Starched Cuffs
by RussianWolf7
Summary: Draco trips Ron, who trips Harry, who is knocked into Snape and accidentally brushes his cuffs. Such a little thing, yet it's all he can think about. Everything he's been holding back since the Final Battle comes bursting forth, and Harry is determined to get Snape to stop ignoring him and actually talk. Unexpected allies, botched potions, detention, and Legilimency afoot! SSHP
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hey all! I apologize for my unintended absence; I was really sick on Friday and somehow managed to forget I have a ton of finished stories I can publish without needing to write anything new. As for Monday, depending on whether you're subscribed to me or not, you may have been able to guess what happened: I published an M rated story and it got taken down. After a brief hissy fit, I've let it go. In any case, I wasn't allowed to publish anything until today, so here we are.

After hearing all about it (because holy shit I touched Snape's cuffs), here is the story inspired by said cuff-touching! It ended up a lot longer than I expected at eight chapters, and I'll be sticking to the MWF publishing schedule.

For any fans of _Unexpected Effects_ reading this: It's on its way! I promise! It morphed from an alternative ending to a full on, story-lengthed addition. It's currently at around 50k words and just shy of 200 pages, and it's still not done yet. So keep your eyes peeled, it's a-coming!

Enjoy!

**Chapter One**

**1**

Unless Draco Malfoy was suddenly an expert at Legilimency and had suddenly decided he didn't hate Harry, it was an accident. Harry didn't think either of those were very likely, and even if they were, the means of delivery were much too convoluted to be intentional. It was a little odd, because Malfoy hadn't talked to him or engaged in any sort of physical confrontation once since they'd been back at Hogwarts for eighth year.

"Disgusting," Malfoy muttered under his breath, shouldering his way between Ron and Hermione, who were holding hands. Hermione stepped aside, only stumbling slightly, but Ron tripped and slammed into Harry, who had to wave his arms frantically to keep from falling.

"Not as disgusting as you!" Ron shot back.

"Ten points for clumsiness, Weasley," Snape said automatically, pulling ahead of their group as if nothing had happened. Harry wasn't surprised in the slightest; Snape hadn't talked to him this year either, going so far as to cease taking points from him and avoid giving him detention. Besides, it was an accident. A _tiny_ accident. He probably hadn't even felt it.

"But he—" Ron started.

"Another five for lip," Snape added, picking up his pace and disappearing down the hallway to the dungeons.

"Malfoy shoved _me_!" Ron protested indignantly.

"I know," Hermione said, taking his hand again. "Let it go. It's not worth it."

"But he called you disgusting!"

Hermione blushed slightly, the corners of her mouth curving up in a smile before quickly turning downwards in disapproval. "You don't need to defend me," she said. "Come on, we're still in the doorway, and I don't fancy another collision."

They made it a few steps before Ron realized there were only two of them.

"You coming?" Ron asked, turning around to face Harry.

Harry didn't respond. He was busy staring at his fingers.

"Harry!" Ron said loudly, jerking him out of his thoughts. "What's wrong with your hand? Did Malfoy hex you?"

"No, nothing, its fine," Harry said quickly, catching up with his friends.

Ron grabbed his wrist, examining his hand as they started up the staircase. "You don't look hexed."

Harry yanked himself free. "I told you, I'm fine! Malfoy didn't even touch me, Ron. You were the one who knocked into me."

"Well he pushed me!"

"Let it go," Hermione repeated firmly. "Draco's a prat, like always. Nobody's hurt, let's all move on." A worried frown crossed her face. "You aren't hurt, right Harry?"

"Yes!" he replied, exasperated. "I'm fine!"

"Then why were you looking at your hand?" Ron asked. "Sprout an extra finger?"

Harry was still feeling a little fuzzy, and having trouble coming up with a plausible excuse. "You pushed me into Snape," he said, opting a version of the truth. "He had a vial or something in his pocket and I whacked my fingers and I hit my nail, okay? It's entirely daft, me breaking a nail, but it hurt, sort of. Like I said, nothing important."

Ron snorted. "A vial and a broken fingernail, I'm sure. There's no other reason why bumping into Snape would leave you daft."

"Well there isn't," Harry replied angrily. "I told you to forget about that."

"You can't expect us to," Hermione said with a small smile, leading them into the library. "It's hardly forgettable, that you—"

"Shut up," Harry hissed, glancing around. "I was drunk, it was after midterms and I failed everything, and I wasn't thinking."

"Clearly," Ron said, rolling his eyes.

"You did fine," Hermione replied. "Good marks all around."

"I didn't know that at the time," Harry said indignantly. "I thought we were here to study. Finals next week, remember?"

Hermione once again looked worried and pushed them over to the nearest table. "I've got so much to do," she said distractedly, pulling out a pile of textbooks. "Arithmancy, Potions, Transfiguration…but Harry, really, you said it and now we know. There's no point in denying it."

"I didn't say anything," Harry said, taking out his Defense book and flipping it open to a random page. "All I said is that he wasn't as bad as we thought, because he isn't. It's not my fault he's decent."

"That's not all you said," Ron replied. "Once you got done with that, which took you quite some time, by the way, you went on to say—"

"Nothing," Harry interrupted. "I didn't say a thing. Merlin, he's such a bloody arse, assigning a three-foot essay just before finals. He doesn't actually expect us to get this done, does he?"

"It's not that hard, I've already finished," Hermione said, pouring over her Transfiguration book. "Besides, it's actually rather helpful, combining everything we've covered like that. It's basically just a study guide."

"Snape, helpful," Ron grumbled. "If only. And Harry, you're only complaining to throw suspicion off. We know you fancy him and we're sick of you denying it. It's bizarre and gross and completely uncalled for, but stop denying and do your bloody homework. You couldn't get bad marks in Defense if you tried, not with the way he's been treating you."

"He hasn't been treating me any way," Harry muttered, yanking out a roll of parchment and a quill. "Hasn't said a single word to me all term. He's only giving me decent marks so he doesn't have to talk to me."

"Yeah, that's what I said," Ron replied. "You could say the—what did he say, some bollocks—"

"Culmination of your studies," Hermione supplied.

"Yeah, that your culmination is unicorns fart magic rainbows and that's how you defeated Voldemort and he still wouldn't fail you."

"Right," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I'm sure he'd be thrilled to pieces." He smoothed out his parchment, flattening it with his left hand while he started writing. He made it through half a sentence before he glanced over at his hand. His fingers, specifically. More specifically, his pinkie, ring finger and middle finger. The ones that had brushed Snape's robes. Well, not robes exactly, but his cuff. The cuff of his shirt. Thick woolen robes would have been one thing, but it had been his shirt, the shirt that lay directly against his skin, the shirt that was the only barrier between Harry's fingers and Snape's wrist.

"You haven't got any broken nails," Hermione said suddenly, looking at his hand.

Harry pulled his sleeve down over his hand. "I have, too," he replied. "Or something. It hurts. Can we stop micro analyzing my fingers and get back to work? This bloody essay is going to kill me."

"Magic rainbow unicorn farts, I told you," Ron repeated. "Either you'll get good marks and can write off the class entirely or you'll finally land a detention, and then you'll have hours and hours of time alone with him. Either way you win."

Harry considered it, much to Hermione's horror.

"You'll do nothing of the sort!" she exclaimed.

"You're right," Harry replied. "Not unicorn farts. But I don't think Ron's got it entirely wrong." He looked down at his page. "All I've got so far is 'This year in Defense Against the Dark Arts, we've covered—', and that's it. Maybe I should put something ridiculous, just to see what would happen."

"No!" Hermione yelled, attracting several stares. She lowered her voice. "Really, Harry, don't. It doesn't matter if you fancy him or not, or whether you'll admit it. He clearly wants nothing to do with you and he probably would pass you just so he doesn't have to talk to you. You don't want to get good marks like that."

Harry's stomach twisted angrily. "Says who?" he snapped. "If I'm going to do well no matter what, I'm taking advantage. I've got enough to deal with as it is." He quickly scribbled something down, shoved the parchment to the side and took out Transfiguration.

Ron took the parchment. "'This year in Defense Against the Dark Arts, we've covered how to nap in class without being noticed'," he read, then laughed. "Brilliant."

Hermione's eyes were wide with incredulity. "You're not actually going to hand that in, are you?"

"Absolutely," Harry said. "I'm sick of his bollocks. He showed me everything, and now refuses to acknowledge my existence. It's his own bloody fault for being such a prick. All I want to do is talk to him, let him know I don't blame him for what happened, that his memories mean something—mean everything, really—and there's no reason things shouldn't go back to how they were."

"Sorry, I had a bit of fluff in my ear and misheard," Ron said. "It sounded like you wanted him to go back to treating you like shit, not that you fancy him and want to spend the rest of the year shagging him senseless."

"I do not!" Harry yelled, once again causing several nearby students to stare. "I just want things to be okay between us, that's all I said. All I've _ever_ said."

"Rewrite your essay," Hermione said. "Properly. Then get on with the rest of your work. You're clearly not going to be a man and own up to what you said and I'm sick of it. If you want to be miserable, fine."

Harry's stomach twisted again. "I don't see an alternative," he replied, dropping his voice further. "Either I don't tell him and I'm miserable and alone or I do tell him and I'm miserable and humiliated. We're graduating in six months and then I'll never have to see him again and it won't matter. In the mean time, if I want to push my luck, let me do it in peace."

"At the cost of good marks?" Hermione asked. "I'm sure the Ministry would love to have an Auror who failed Defense."

"They won't care, you know that," Harry replied. "I killed Voldemort. I've got the job."

Hermione rubbed her temples. "You can be really conceited, Harry. It makes you sound like an arse."

"A _funny_ arse," Ron interjected. "I wish I could see the look on Snape's face when he sees your parchment! It'll be priceless."

"It doesn't matter," Harry said. "I'm working on Transfiguration now. I'm already behind on studying, don't make it worse."

"Because you spent Friday night playing chess and all of today watching Quidditch practice," Hermione said. "Ginny's captain, not you. You haven't got to hover like that, not when you have exams coming up."

"Well I'm doing my homework now, aren't I?" Harry demanded. "Or I would be, if you two didn't keep distracting me."

"You're ruining a streak of good marks for nothing," Hermione insisted. "If you need his attention that desperately at least go about it like a normal person and talk to him."

"I've tried, he won't get anywhere near me," Harry replied. "We're done. I'm doing this Ron's way, and that's that."

Hermione shook her head dolefully. "Just don't come crying to me when he fails you."

Harry personally thought continuing to be ignored would be far worse than failing, but he didn't feel the need to say so out loud, and instead returned to Transfiguration.

**2**

Harry spent a lot of time staring at his canopy before he fell asleep that night. It was stupid, for such a little accident. So he brushed Snape's robes, so what? And even if it wasn't his robes per se but the cuff of his shirt, the shirt that touched his skin, that was stupid. What's more, he'd already been over it with himself earlier, while trying to study. Yes, he'd come into physical contact with Snape. It was time to grow up and get over it.

Only that wasn't particularly easy. The thing was, he _had_ touched Snape's robes, however accidentally. He hadn't touched Snape since the night in the Shrieking Shack, and while that might have been significantly more—more everything, really—today's memory wasn't tainted with death and war. It might be stupid, but he'd take stupid over horrifying any day.

There was a benefit to horrifying, though. With horrifying came guilt and terror and the need to push the memory as far away as possible. The thought of holding Snape and trying to stop the bleeding and taking his memories was awful. Yes, there was a tiny bit that wasn't horrible, because it seemed that any contact with Snape was better than nothing, but that only led to more guilt.

This, this was an accident. Malfoy had bumped Ron and then Ron had bumped Harry and then Harry had bumped Snape. There wasn't anything to keep him from obsessing over it. It was just a brush of Harry's fingers against his cuff, but it didn't feel particularly like a "just". Instead it felt like his fingers were still tingling and he still knew exactly which parts of his fingertips had touched his cuff and even now he had to stop a stupid sort of smile from spreading across his face because, really, this was pathetic.

Pathetic was okay, though. Pathetic was fine. He'd just lie in bed obsessing over the feel of thick linen cuffs until he graduated and then he'd never see Snape again and he'd be fine. As it was, the linen had been warm, textured and soft, not what he had expected. He'd thought it'd be stiff and overly starched and rough, but no. It was strange, enough to make Harry wonder what the rest of his robes felt like. He certainly hadn't been focusing on them in the Shrieking Shack, and no doubt he'd never have the chance to find out, but still. If his shirt was soft, what did that mean for his robes? Were they soft, too? His robes seemed so unyielding, almost like they had ivory boning running through them, but maybe not. And his cape, the one that swept around him, that had to be some sort of silk in order to billow the way it did.

Regardless of pathetic versus horrible, Harry wasn't thrilled with these thoughts. Contemplating the texture of Snape's clothes led to contemplating feeling those clothes beneath his hands, which turned towards contemplating removing his clothes—that was interesting, actually, given how many buttons and layers he wore—and then to contemplating things Harry _really_ shouldn't be contemplating. He'd barely touched the man's shirt. That wasn't exactly the stuff fantasies were born of. Except, well. Except maybe a little bit.

But only a little.

Even, um, the problem in his pants wasn't exactly little. But he refused to act on it, not because of something this stupid. He didn't want to admit it, not in the slightest, but it wasn't that he hadn't entertained such thoughts or activities before. It was just that he refused, absolutely refused, to wank to something as pathetic as touching Snape's cuff for a quarter of a second with the tiniest bit of his fingertips. That was just. Just no.

His resolve lasted no more than a few minutes, and it was over a lot faster than that.

Pathetic.

Utterly, completely pathetic.

**3**

Monday started with double Defense. Harry handed in his essay, not that he could really call it that. He was feeling brave and giddy and delirious. He didn't nap during class, he never did, not when he could continue his pathetic and unnoticed attempts at impressing Snape through superior spell casting and extensive note taking.

After Defense was Muggle Studies, and Harry had about five minutes of boredom before the reality of what he'd done sunk in. Elation was replaced with utter panic and he would have sprinted out of the classroom and down to Snape's office to retrieve his essay if he hadn't been paralyzed by abject terror. Instead he stared blankly ahead running over everything Snape could do to him in revenge. He could be failed, which wasn't nearly as acceptable as Harry had thought it would be, he could get detention for the rest of the year and it wouldn't necessarily be with Snape—he could be assigned to work with Filch or something, or maybe worst of all he could continue to be ignored.

The thought was equally petrifying and likely. Harry had no illusions regarding Snape's feelings for him. Harry was hated, blamed for the crimes of his father as well as his own failings. How could he have thought Snape would respond to what seemed to be yet another attempt at humiliating him? It had seemed so clever in his head but now that he thought about it, it seemed exactly like something his father would have done.

So no, it wasn't like Harry thought Snape was about to confess a secret undying love for him. That was just idiotic, especially given that Harry had to go an act like an arse and try to get his attention by being a total prick. But even if he had stepped up and given the most romantic, eloquent speech anyone had ever said, it wouldn't matter. Snape hated him. There wasn't any getting around that.

He might go on about wanting things to go back to how they had been, or even okay, but he knew that wasn't enough. This impenetrable silence might make it seem like being constantly berated and abused was a step up, or even an understanding nothing short of a miracle, but really? Realistically speaking, Snape avoiding him was the best possible outcome. Harry wasn't going to get over his crush or infatuation or whatever this was by constantly interacting with the man. No, what he needed was distance.

This was not how to get distance.

This was how to sabotage himself.

Hermione elbowed him. "Focus," she whispered. "This could be on the exam."

"Yeah, right," Harry replied vaguely, picking up his quill and setting the tip against his parchment. "Focusing."

Hermione paused for a moment. "If this is about Defense—"

"It's done," Harry said. "Doesn't matter."

She rested a hand on his for a moment before returning to her notes. "You'll be okay."

Harry seriously doubted that.

**4**

Harry didn't have Defense again until Thursday afternoon. The few times he saw Snape before then continued as usual. At meals he was his usual dour self, and he avoided Harry during any chance encounters in the halls just like always. His hope that Snape hadn't read the essay yet slowly faded with each passing day until the possibility was utterly ludicrous and he had to admit that Snape just didn't care. Regardless of his grade Snape felt nothing towards him, not even animosity.

Well, that was fine. That was what Harry needed. He'd be ignored and eventually the miserable ache encasing him would fade away and he'd be okay. That was how it worked, right? When someone spent half their life dedicated to protecting you, whatever their motives, trying to write them out of your life was absolutely the logical course of action. Any feelings that might be considered love were irrelevant in the face of disdainful neutrality.

Besides, finals were on Friday. All his spare time was taken up with studying, at least as much as Hermione could force him into. He continued to watch Quidditch practice and squeeze in a few games of chess. Mostly, though, he studied, and that was good. Any distraction was welcome, even one as stressful and boring as late night study sessions.

Harry had very few memories of his early classes. He didn't eat during lunch, instead pushing his food around his plate and sneaking glances at the head table. Snape was impenetrable, as always. There wasn't any point in looking for what wasn't there, not that he'd be able to see anything even if there was something. Which there wasn't, so it was irrelevant.

Harry slunk into Defense, keeping his eyes on his shoes and sitting next to Ron, like always. He took out his textbook and skimmed any passages he'd marked, trying to focus on tomorrow's exam and not his professor.

"Today will be restricted to review," Snape said once the rest of the class settled. "I will go over nothing more than relevant chapter titles; the rest is up to you. Put your books away, you are restricted to your notes. Assuming you paid the slightest bit of attention, you will have no problem." He waved his wand at the chalkboard and the chapter titles appeared, and then at his desk. Their essays flew over to their desks. "Given the state of your papers, I anticipate quite a few problems. Begin."

Fingers shaking, Harry unrolled his parchment. Beneath his one sentence Snape had scrawled _Acceptable_. A passing grade. Harry's teeth clenched and the parchment crumpled in his hand. This was ridiculous. Utter bloody bollocks. He shoved it into his bag along with his book and pulled out his notes. Impeccable notes. It was nearly impossible to study, but no matter how upset he was with Snape—and with himself, to be completely honest—finals were still looming. It did seem it was impossible for him to fail, but still. His brief foray into goading rendered an utter failure, he was back to trying to impress, no matter how hopeless it was.

His focus only lasted so long, and by the end of class he was practically bursting with rage. He had spent his entire Hogwarts career despising Snape and slaving away just to pass, having an _Acceptable _thrown at him like this was insulting. It was possible that had been the point, insulting him the way he had insulted Snape, but he highly doubted it. He was just a throwaway. It wasn't that he liked being the Boy Who lived or the Golden Boy or the Savior of the Wizarding World, but any recognition was better than this.

"Class is over," Snape announced, startling Harry out of his thoughts. "Dismissed."

Harry had a free period after Defense. As everyone else packed up their things and left he stayed behind, pulling out his essay in exchange for his notes. Ron gave him a look.

"What're you doing?" he asked quietly.

"I've got a question for the professor," Harry replied, almost certainly loudly enough that Snape could hear him. "About what we've covered. I'll catch up to you."

Hermione looked over his shoulder at the graded paper. "You're finally going to talk to him?"

"About my paper, yeah," Harry said. "I'm confused. Go ahead, really. I'll be up soon."

"Good luck," she whispered, then guided Ron out of the room.

Harry stayed in his seat for several minutes after the last student left, waiting for Snape to say something. Do something. Anything. Instead he sat at his desk, presumably grading. His bottle of red ink was out. Harry hadn't seen red ink all year, not on his papers.

It was the final straw.

Harry grabbed his paper and stalked up to Snape's desk, slamming it down.

"What is this?"

Snape didn't glance up. "A pathetic excuse for a paper."

"So you passed me?" Harry asked.

"The effort of failing you isn't worth my time."

"This isn't even an essay!" Harry said, voice rising. "It's one bloody sentence. An insult, and a lie. You know I've been paying attention."

"Then I'm sure you won't let any pettiness get in the way of future assignments," Snape replied. "I told you, class is dismissed. Leave."

"No," Harry said determinedly. "I get that you hate I know what you showed me. Fine, whatever. You've always hated me, though apparently mostly because you hated my dad. If you need to hold that grudge, hold away. At least have the decency to look at me when you lie about my paper."

Snape finally looked up, eyes carefully guarded. Not angry, not hateful, just shielded. "I told you, Potter. I lack the energy and motivation to continue to go out of my way to show how little I care."

Harry flushed from a combination of anger and upset. "I don't understand, _professor_. I can spend the rest of the year turning in this shit and still pass my N.E.W.T.s?"

"I am entirely apathetic towards your test scores," Snape replied. "Apathetic and tired of having you in my life. The fastest way to remove you is to get you out of Hogwarts as quickly and painlessly as possible. I could not care less whether or not you are adequately prepared for a job at the Ministry, I only want you to leave."

Harry forgot why he thought this was a good idea. The paper, the confrontation, any of it. He hated himself for it, but he was terrifyingly close to tears, all because some stupid crush was one-sided. _Obviously_ one-sided. Getting Snape to say it out loud did nothing other than break what was already broken.

"You spent seventeen years watching out for me," Harry accused. "Seventeen years erased because I saved the world? Isn't that what you wanted, for me to kill Voldemort?"

"I fulfilled a promise, nothing more," Snape said. "I upheld the wishes of Albus Dumbledore and your mother. The war is over and I have no reason to have you in my life. I refuse to reply to the accusation that I'd rather the Dark Lord triumph."

"That's it, then?" Harry said, deflating. "You're done with me, just like that?"

"Would you prefer I make your life miserable?" Snape asked. "I wasn't aware you were such a masochist, Potter."

Harry turned away, leaving the paper on Snape's desk. He grabbed his book bag and started towards the door. "I'd _prefer_ you acknowledge your memories," he said. "That maybe something's changed between us, and not that you don't care. You shared something with me, you can't just expect me to forget that."

"It is irrelevant," Snape said sharply. "It is the past, both the memories themselves and the mistake of giving them to you. Of all people, I would assume you are aware of the rash decisions that accompany dying. The fact that I lived is incidental and, in this case, exceedingly irritating. Now leave me alone, Potter. I can think of nothing I would like to do less than speak with you, especially about this."

"I'm not my father," Harry replied, almost calmly. "I don't hate you, I don't want to fight with you anymore than you want to fight with me. You're—" He searched for the right word, one that wouldn't embarrass him. "You're incredible, Severus. If you're not willing to own up to that, fine. It's not my fault that you have a human side. Don't expect to see me for exams; if I'm going to pass anyway, there isn't any point."

None of that was at all embarrassing nor had he used the wrong words or anything like that. He left, closing the door behind himself. The strange calmness was still there and, as satisfying as a good slam would have been, he didn't want that sort of satisfaction. He'd talked to Snape. That's what he'd meant to do. It hadn't gone how he'd wanted, in fact probably as far from it as possible, but he'd done it. He could relax.

"Detention, Potter." Snape's voice echoed down the hallway and Harry wondered how he could have opened the door and stepped out of the classroom so silently when every movement rang out like a gunshot. "Tonight at seven. If you so much as think about skipping your exam, I'll fail you and mark your end-of-year report so badly you won't be able to land a job as a house elf, let alone at the Ministry."

Harry smiled to himself. "Yes, Professor." Then the words sank in, and he whirled around, smile gone. "Wait, tonight? I have to study!"

"If you are not prepared by now, a few extra hours will do nothing," Snape replied with a sneer. "Either you are ready for your exams or you are not, it is no concern of mine. I have been remarkably lenient with you, Potter. It was your decision to push me the day before testing."

Harry glared furiously at him before dropping his gaze. "Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "Seven."

"Don't be late."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** First off, I want to thank you all for the kind words and support regarding _How to Ask the Question_. I don't currently have an account on any other fanfiction site and I don't think it's in my immediate future, but I'll let you guys know if I do. Also, if any of you would like to read it now, feel free to PM me with your email address and I'll send it right along :)

Also, the first chapter of the alternate ending of _Unexpected Effects_ is going up tomorrow! I'm not making any promises regarding a publishing schedule since it's not done yet, but I've kept you guys waiting long enough. In the mean time, this story will keep going with my regular MWF updates.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Two**

**5**

Harry had a lot of trouble explaining what had happened to Ron and Hermione. He couldn't seem to get across the feeling of being told in such blatant terms that he was irrelevant. Both of them had grown up in loving families and had always been cared about. Hermione kept insisting that he wasn't irrelevant, that he had saved the world, and Harry kept repeating that wasn't what he _meant_, he meant that _Snape_ thought he was. The point wasn't his overall relevance but how Snape felt about him.

This led to yet another conversation with Ron about how Snape was a greasy, slimy dungeon bat and wasn't worth the time of day. Harry made a few cursory attempts at changing his mind, but that truly wasn't worth it. He could go on and on about what he had seen in the Pensieve and what that meant, but it fell on deaf ears. Ron was willing to admit that Snape hadn't been trying to kill Harry but that was it. Instead, Ron kept going back to the fact that Snape had given him detention the day before exams.

Throughout the argument cleverly disguised as a civil conversation, Hermione continually and quietly interjected statements regarding Harry's feelings towards Snape. She started off by reminding him of what he'd said while drunk, moved to the cuff incident and how Harry had reacted to it, and finally to now, pointing out that Harry's need for his approval was most telling of all.

Eventually Harry exploded.

"Fine!" he yelled. His dorm was empty with the exception of Ron and Hermione and that was good, because he didn't think he could hold back any further. "You know what? Fucking fine. I'm in love with Snape. You don't understand, you couldn't possibly understand. How he got to where he is now, that could have been me. The only difference was that I was marked to be 'special' and Snape wasn't. If I had just been me, coming from a half-blood family and raised by Muggles, if I had been sorted into Slytherin instead of Gryffindor, I'd be exactly like him. So just let him alone, okay?

"He risked everything for me, _everything_. Neither of you have any idea what that's like. Don't you dare say it was only because of my mother because I already know that, and ignoring that fact is all I've got, especially now that I've forced Snape to admit he hates me, which was a really brilliant move on my part. Six months, and then it doesn't matter anymore. I only told you about our conversation because I knew you'd weasel it out of me eventually and, silly me, I thought you might feel bad for me and sympathize. Clearly that's not the case." Harry glanced at the clock. "I've got to go, I don't want to be late."

"We're on your side," Hermione said gently. "We don't want you to get hurt, that's all."

"Fine, whatever." Harry stormed out of the room and down to the Defense room, all the while hating himself. He just had to go and fall in love with Snape, didn't he? Then he had to push Snape over and over again until he admitted he hated him, as if it wasn't obvious enough. Snape had spent the entirety of Harry's life looking out for him and it meant absolutely nothing to him.

How could he have let himself fall for him in the first place? Really, of all people. It hadn't been slowly realizing his feelings over the course of several years like with Ginny, or always having an eye on Cho and not realizing he fancied her beyond her looks right away. It was like a switch had been turned on: one minute he hated Snape, and the next he was dying and Harry was in love with him. He supposed this probably meant he'd felt something for a long time and had pushed it away, but Harry wasn't interested in exploring that possibility, and so stuck with the on-off switch.

He'd visited Snape in St. Mungo's over the summer, not even Ron and Hermione knew that. Snape didn't know, either. Harry only visited until Snape woke up nearly a month after the attack. He started off by just poking his head in, then standing by his bed for a few minutes, but then his feet started to get tired so he'd sit, and as long as he was sitting he could stay for a while, so he'd done that, and then there was the day he stopped by after a trip to Diagon Alley and he'd had a book, and a tradition had been born. He'd bring a book and sit and read for a while. Sometimes a while was a few minutes, and sometimes, if the book was particularly good, it ended up being hours.

The day Snape had woken up Harry nearly gave himself away. He'd walked into his room like usual, going through his bag and not looking up. Suddenly Snape's voice floated out from behind the curtain—croaky and scratchy, but ill-tempered and irritable as always. He was speaking to Healer Davis, the man in charge of his case. Harry had gotten to know him, and a few others, quite well over the past month, and he stayed hidden behind the curtain, listening to the conversation.

"—had the anti-venom with you."

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Snape rasped testily. "How long have I been asleep?"

"A little less than a month," Healer Davis replied. "You've made remarkable progress. That you've woken up already is a spectacular sign."

Silence for a moment. "Of all the things I feel, spectacular is nowhere on the list."

"That's to be expected," Healer Davis said. "You have quite a ways to go before you're completely cured. But you will make a full recovery, don't worry."

More silence. "Hand me my chart."

Harry couldn't suppress a smile. How very Snape.

"I can tell you anything you need to know," Healer Davis replied. "What are you looking for?"

"My chart, I told you," Snape said irritably, then broke into a coughing fit. Merlin, he sounded awful, and Healer Davis quickly cast several spells.

"Rest," he said firmly. "Especially your voice. Drink this, and I'll be back to check on you in a few hours."

Healer Davis stepped around the curtain and opened his mouth to greet Harry, who shook his head and darted out of the room.

"Don't tell him I'm here," Harry said once they were out of earshot. "Or that I was ever here. He wouldn't understand. Please, promise me."

Healer Davis raised an eyebrow. "I'd think he'd be happy to have a visitor, especially one as devoted as you."

Harry flushed. "Er, no, he wouldn't. I've got to go. I'll, um, owl, to check in. See you."

He escaped without further incident. He did owl, a few times. Specifically to Healer Davis, never to Snape. Once he'd ascertained Snape was, in fact, stable and not about to die, he'd stopped. He never intended to visit so regularly and now that he had the chance to look back on it, he was hugely embarrassed, regardless of whether Snape found out. Which he absolutely was not going to.

He'd only gotten one letter from Healer Davis that wasn't in response. A week before Hogwarts started he'd owled to let Harry know Snape would be returning to teach. Harry didn't know exactly what to make of it. Was he just being polite and assuming Harry wanted to be updated on Snape's condition? Surely Snape hadn't asked him to let Harry know. However it happened, Harry had thanked Healer Davis for letting him know, and realized when he walked into the Great Hall for his eighth year he was very glad he knew, otherwise he might have had a heart attack. Snape looked the same as always, and Harry's heart had clenched.

Being in love. Bloody hell it was awful.

But now he was here for detention and that was it. It had nothing to do with anything other than the essay he'd turned in and the conversation that followed in which Harry had behaved like a total arse.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.

**6**

"Enter."

Harry opened the door and walked in. Snape was behind his desk grading papers, which Harry didn't understand in the slightest. Exams were tomorrow, followed by holiday break; how could he still have homework to pass out?

"Sit."

Harry sat in the first row, in the seat with a piece of parchment and quill in front of it. His eyes drifted to Snape's cuffs and he quickly averted them. "Er, what should I be doing?"

"Redo your paper," Snape replied. His voice was still a little raspy, just a touch lower than it had been. Harry refused to admit it, but it may have been just the slightest bit attractive. "If you want a fair grade, so be it. Hand in whatever you feel is appropriate. You have two hours."

Harry couldn't complain, not really. This is what he'd wanted, right? To be taken seriously? He thought it entirely possibly Snape was only doing this because he thought it the easiest way to get him to shut up, but it was better than nothing. Maybe.

He picked up the quill and contemplated the parchment. What, exactly, did he think was appropriate? Nothing, that was the answer. He could write his essay properly, that was an easy answer. It kind of defeated the point of getting Snape's attention, though. He could rewrite the same thing he'd submitted in the first place, but he'd already done that and it hadn't provoked a reaction, not really. Antagonizing Snape afterwards had, but even then only barely. Was that the answer, then? Write something he knew would make Snape angry? He didn't even know what that was anymore.

…actually. Actually maybe he did.

Harry wrote four sentences, hesitated, and added a fifth. He rolled the parchment up, walked over to Snape's desk and set it down. Snape didn't look up. Harry hadn't expected him to. He went back to his seat. He found his eyes wandering towards Snape's cuffs again and forced them away.

"What are you doing, Potter?" Snape asked, eyes still on his grading. "You have turned in the assignment. Leave."

"I have over and hour and a half of detention left," Harry replied.

"You are excused."

Harry stayed where he was. He wasn't getting up until Snape read his paper and Harry had his answer. It was stupid, it was a resounding no, Snape didn't care at all, but he was a Gryffindor, and he needed to see out his stubbornness to the end. He didn't know why anything would have changed since this afternoon, but maybe. Maybe writing what he wrote would do something. Probably not, but maybe.

"Potter. Get out."

"Read my paper," Harry replied.

"My attention is otherwise occupied," Snape said. "I see no reason to drop everything and attend to you."

Harry had to stop himself from shivering. Why did Snape have to phrase it like that? "I think you might be interested."

"Nothing you do could possibly interest me Potter," Snape replied, sounding bored. "In fact, I believe we had this very conversation once today already. Why do you insist on wasting my time?"

"Professor, I believe you're wasting mine," Harry said bravely. Rashly, more like. At least Snape finally looked at him.

"Excuse me?"

"I told you, I'm not leaving until you see what I have to say," Harry continued. "So you're the one keeping me here."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Fine." Under his breath he added, "Insufferable brat," just loudly enough Harry could hear him. Harry stayed still, forcing himself not to fidget as Snape unrolled the parchment and read it over. His face remained impassive. "What about this do you think might interest me?"

Harry felt his temper starting to rise. "I'm not my parents."

"Unless you have become extraordinarily gifted in Transfiguration, I had come to that conclusion on my own," Snape replied dryly. "You need not commit it to writing."

"Then what?" Harry demanded. "What have I ever done to you?"

"Your existence is reason enough," Snape said. "I'm terribly sorry if I don't fawn over you like the rest of your adoring fans."

"I don't want you to fawn over me, bloody hell," Harry snapped. "I want you to tell me why you've been avoiding me all year, and don't give me some bullshit about not having the energy. Making my life hell _gives_ you energy."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You want me to go back to torturing you?" he asked. "And watch your mouth if you don't want to spend the entirety of your holidays serving detention with me."

Harry wouldn't particularly mind that, but he wasn't about to admit it. "I want you to talk to me."

"So you wrote."

"I'm sorry about my dad," Harry said suddenly, changing tactics. "But do you really think my mum would like how you're treating me?"

Snape's eyes blazed. "Potter—"

"If everything you did was for my mum, why the fuck do you treat me like this?" Harry yelled. It wasn't that he was angry, not exactly. He _was_ angry, furious really, but mostly it was six months of built up, one-sided sexual tension bubbling up in the only way he could express himself. "If you felt nothing towards me, you'd just—"

"Ignore you?" Snape filled in icily. "I did what I had to do during the war. Now that it's over I can finally be rid of you. Get over yourself, Potter. I do not care and I am not interested. Get out of my classroom."

Harry's stomach was twisting horribly and his heart was on fire and he wanted to kill something because he was fairly certain if he didn't he was going to burst into tears and he absolutely refused to do that. "That last bit?" Harry asked. "Doesn't mean anything to you?"

"Nothing."

"I was there for a month," Harry exclaimed. "A bloody month, every day."

Finally, _finally_, something flicked across Snape's face. Only for a second, but it was there. "Your mistake, not mine."

Harry's eyes were burning. He needed to leave, right now, otherwise he was going to break down in front of Snape. "You're a bastard."

Snape stood up suddenly, sending his chair scraping backwards across the floor, hands pressed down against the desk so hard his fingers were turning white. "What is your point, Potter?" he hissed. "Are you intent on making my life as difficult as your father did? You have treated me exactly the same way as I do you. What has gotten into your head that makes you so desperate to examine my motives?"

Harry didn't answer right away, weighing his options. Eventually he just sighed and turned away. "Nothing. You're right, forget it."

"Then get out of my classroom," Snape said. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for each time you swore and two weeks of detention. I should think the explanation obvious."

Harry stared at him. "That's my entire break!"

Snape glanced down and flipped open a small black book. "It appears I have made an error," he said, sounding remarkably lighthearted. "Seventeen days of detention, one for each day of holidays, weekends included."

"You can't do that!" Harry yelled.

"I most certainly can," Snape replied. "I even gave you the common courtesy of warning you in advance. For the fifth time, do yourself a favor and leave while you can. Rest assured I will not be so inclined to let you leave early for the next two and a half weeks."

Harry was at the door when Snape spoke again.

"I suggest you seriously reconsider your attitude, Potter," Snape added. "I do not know what prompted this sudden outburst, but I highly recommend you pull yourself together."

"I'll consider it," Harry stated dully, opening the door and leaving. He made it up a single flight of stairs before breaking off and hurrying down the nearest hallway. Just before it forked off there was an alcove containing a suit of armor. Harry pushed past it, tucked himself into the space between the armor and the wall, and started shaking uncontrollably. He leaned his forehead on his knees, running over exactly what he had done, trying desperately to convince himself it had all been a dream, or someone had slipped him an inhibition reducing potion or maybe that he could Obliviate Snape without anyone noticing.

The essay was bad enough. _I'm not my dad. I'm not my mum. I don't care if you want to talk about it or not, I can't forget what I saw. If you ever cared even in the slightest, talk to me. I sat with you in the hospital._

What he'd said after was just. He had. Explicitly done. Merlin's beard what _had _he done? How did he think this would help his cause in the slightest? Even if antagonizing Snape was the only way to get his attention, that was not the kind of attention he was looking for. This was—was—

He hated himself for it, but he was crying. Not a lot, thankfully no hysterics, but definitely tears. He still couldn't stop shaking. He was stuck in detention alone with Snape every night for seventeen days. He'd gotten Gryffindor docked eighty points.

Harry decided he was going to spend the rest of his life in the alcove.

**7**

Harry thought he might feel better once he heard, over and over again, that Snape wasn't interested, that he couldn't even be bothered to hate him. He had been wrong. He went to bed early, moving through the common room as quickly as he could, ignoring Hermione's concerned questions. Ron came up a few minutes later and told him that no one was angry at him for losing so many points; everyone figured it was coming given how he had been ignoring Harry. The dam was bound to break sometime. Mostly people were wondering what Snape had done to cause Harry to cry. Apparently his eyes had been puffy enough that everyone noticed.

"Harry, talk to me," Ron implored, sitting on the edge of his bed. "I don't understand why you feel the way you do, but I'm done making fun of you, at least for now. Tell me what happened."

"Nothing," Harry said blankly. "He let me redo my essay. I wrote the same sort of bollocks I had earlier. I provoked him again. We got into a fight. That's all."

"I'm not daft, Harry," Ron replied. "I might not be Hermione, but I can tell something's wrong. You fight with Snape all the time. This is different."

Harry sighed dramatically. "Detention for seventeen days, all through break."

Ron winced. "That's harsh, mate. But that's not all. Don't tell me you confessed your love to him and he turned you down."

"No," Harry said irritably. "It was the same bollocks we talked about earlier that got me detention in the first place. He doesn't give a shit about me."

Ron considered. "If he doesn't care about you, why the eighty points and detentions?"

"To get me to leave him alone," Harry replied. "Would you leave? I need to sleep. Exams tomorrow morning and detention tomorrow night."

"Yeah, sure. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Thanks."

Harry fell asleep thinking about soft white cuffs. Detentions or exams would've been better.

**8**

Exams went well, roughly speaking. They also went all day; nonstop from breakfast to lunch, again from lunch to dinner, and two more after dinner. It was almost nine before Harry was released from History of Magic and he sprinted up to Snape's office, bursting in without knocking.

"Sorry I'm late," he panted. "Exams—"

"Stop talking," Snape interrupted. "You will stay for two hours regardless, and an additional twenty points for being out after curfew."

Harry stared at him. "It's not even nine," he said. "Curfew isn't until eleven."

"There are two minutes until nine," Snape replied. "You will be leaving here at two minutes to eleven. I would be highly surprised if you could reach Gryffindor Tower in two minutes."

Harry squeezed his eyes closed in an attempt to calm himself. When he opened them he found himself staring at Snape's cuffs again. This was fucking ridiculous. "Fine," he said. "What do you want me to do?"

"Madame Pomfrey requires her stock of Pepperup to be replenished," Snape said. "The cauldron and ingredients are to your left. Do you require instructions?"

"No," Harry answered quietly. He was done fighting and just wanted this to be as quick and painless as possible. He went over to the desk and started preparing the ingredients as the cauldron heated up. He got through the bicorn horn and Mandrake root with no trouble, but the salamander blood stopped him. There wasn't any in Pepperup. Right? He ran through the preparation, trying to remember what he forgot. Was this a test? Or was he being daft? Both seemed equally likely.

"Sir?" Harry asked quietly.

"What is it?" Snape droned.

"Salamander blood?" he said.

"What about it?"

"I don't—er, what do I do with it?"

Snape sighed heavily. "I thought you knew what you were doing."

Harry flushed. "It's been a while." The sound of a quill scratching, and then a piece of parchment flew over to him.

"Presumably you know how to turn on a cauldron and stir?" Snape asked bitingly.

"Yes," Harry said through gritted teeth. He followed Snape's instructions with no issue and poured the potion into a flask. Forty-five minutes had passed. "Professor, I finished."

"Another batch."

Harry sighed quietly and got to work. Busywork. Better than scrubbing cauldrons, yes, but if he was going to be doing this for two and a half weeks straight he thought he might go insane.

Forty-five minutes later he had a second completed potion and half an hour left of detention. He quickly debated with himself and decided to start on another draught even though he didn't have enough time left to finish. He'd stay for an extra fifteen minutes and, hopefully, get back on Snape's good side. It was probably a lost cause, but he might as well try.

Snape spoke at exactly two of eleven. "Clean up the station and you may leave. I expect you to be on time tomorrow. No excuses."

"I'd like to stay for another fifteen minutes, if that's okay," Harry said. "I started on a third batch and it's not ready yet."

"You realize this will not reduce tomorrow's detention by fifteen minutes," Snape warned.

"I know."

A moment of silence. "Very well. Continue."

Harry finished the potion in silence. He cleaned up and set the three flasks on Snape's desk. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Do not think an extra flask makes up for what you said," Snape replied. "You lost any chance of falling into my favor last night."

Harry's stomach twisted. He wasn't a fan of how often that seemed to be happening these days. "I know," he repeated.

"Go."

Harry left, sneaking one last pathetic glance at his cuffs.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I am super duper exhausted so, without further ado, here is chapter three!

**Chapter Three**

**9**

Ron and Hermione were the only other Gryffindors to stay for break. It was nice, actually, having the entire common room to themselves. The only other person their year who stayed was Malfoy, which almost cancelled out any holiday spirit. He avoided them, yes, but he kept sending Harry strange looks and bumping into him in odd places. Not literally, thankfully, but the constant threat of being surprised by him was enough to wear on Harry's nerves.

The first Saturday was a Hogsmeade day. Harry, Ron and Hermione all went, though Harry had to leave dinner early in order to get back in time for detention. He was still eating a piece of shortbread as he started to walk back to Hogwarts and when Malfoy appeared out of nowhere and fell in step next to him, he choked in surprise. Malfoy made no move to help, just walked next to him in silence as he coughed.

"What do you want?" Harry gasped, still coughing.

"I hear you landed quite a few detentions," Malfoy replied neutrally.

"What's it to you?" Harry asked irritably.

"Severus is my godfather," Malfoy said. "I don't like the idea of him being stuck in his office every night."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not too fond of the idea either. What do you expect me to do about it?"

"Be nice to him," Malfoy demanded. "I know you've been fighting, he told me. Just shut up and do what he says."

Harry glared at him. "Clearly he hasn't told you everything. I stayed late yesterday finishing his potion. I talked as little as possible and there was no fighting whatsoever. Not that I need to explain myself to you."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, Harry still nibbling on his shortbread. He was extraordinarily suspicious of the boy next to him but he wasn't in any mood to say anything, even just asking Malfoy to leave him alone. As long as they weren't actively fighting, it was good enough.

"He told me you don't hate him anymore," Malfoy said suddenly.

Harry glanced at him. "It's none of your business."

"For what it's worth, I'm glad," Malfoy replied. "He didn't tell me exactly what you saw in the Pensieve, but enough to get the gist. He's not evil, just difficult."

Harry grabbed Malfoy's wrist, stopping them both. "Why're you telling me this?" he asked angrily. "What's the point? Snape doesn't give a shit about me one way or another; whether I hate him or not is irrelevant. Which I do, by the way. Hate him. I'm willing to accept he's not evil, but that's as far as I'll go."

Malfoy yanked his wrist free. "Don't touch me," he snapped. "I already said why. He's my godfather and I don't want him miserable on the holidays, at least no more than usual. Contrary to what you may think, I am capable of caring about people."

Harry eyed him. "I'm not interested in antagonizing him," he said. "A hundred points taken and two and a half weeks of detention are enough for me to be done bothering Snape. I've got to go, I'm going to be late." He picked up his pace leaving Malfoy behind and hurrying to Snape's office.

"Three minutes late, Potter," Snape drawled when he opened the door. "And you failed to knock. Has no one ever taught you the most basic of courtesies?"

"Sorry, Professor," Harry said, leaving out the part where Malfoy was the reason why he was late. He didn't think that would go over well. "More Pepperup?"

"Dragon dung Fertilizer for Professor Sprout," Snape replied. "Professor Slughorn informed me you have experience with it; do you require instruction?"

Harry glanced at the desk in the corner. "No, but maybe a pair of gloves?"

Snape smirked. "This is detention, Potter. You can wash your hands on your own time."

Harry winced. No wonder Snape was having him make it instead of doing it himself; Harry couldn't imagine Snape getting dung on himself or his clothes, especially not his perfectly white cuffs.

That Harry was not still thinking about.

The potion was disgusting. Dragon dung might have been the worst of the lot, but sloth brains, rat spleens and dragon thoraxes were hardly a joy. The Mandrakes weren't that bad, but of course they hardly required any preparation at all and he spent most of his time handling organs and poop. He finished with fifteen minutes to spare, but he wasn't sure how to get it to Snape, not without getting dung all over the pot.

"Professor, may I wash my hands?"

"On your own time, I told you," Snape replied.

"It's just that the fertilizer is finished and I don't want to get the container messy," Harry said, trying his best to sound humble and not antagonistic.

"_Accio_ potion," Snape said lazily, and the pot floated over to him. "Clean your station using magic, you'll never get it spotless with your hands in that state."

"So I should get my wand covered in dung and organs?" Harry said before he could stop himself.

"That would be your problem, Potter, not mine," Snape replied.

"Can I at least have a rag or something?" Harry asked.

"If you wish to wash that as well, by all means."

Harry ground his teeth. "Yeah, fine, I'll wash it."

A drawer to Harry's left flew open. "In there."

Harry picked the darkest one he could find in hopes of masking any stains. He wrapped it around his wand and used magic. It was harder than usual since he couldn't touch his wand, but he managed.

"Okay, I'm done," Harry announced. "Can I wash my hands and the rag now?"

"You have seven minutes of detention remaining," Snape replied. "Sit quietly and don't touch anything."

"That's it?"

Snape didn't look up from his book. "Yes, Potter, that is it."

Harry sat, facing the chair towards the bookcases on the right wall, away from Snape. The last thing he needed was to be caught staring at his cuffs. For Merlin's sake they were _cuffs_. He needed to get over himself. He pushed the thought out of his mind, Malfoy's words coming back. It was without a doubt the strangest conversation he'd ever had with him.

"Malfoy told me to be nice to you," Harry said unthinkingly.

"His meddling rivals your own," Snape replied dryly. "Pay him no mind."

"I'm sorry you're stuck with me for the holidays," Harry said.

"Your apology is meaningless. I would not be stuck with you had you kept your mouth shut, and I note that you have not apologized for that," Snape accused. "Besides, I have no interest in holidays. Your presence on 25th is no different from any other day."

Harry nearly said something about how he wouldn't have gotten detention in the first place if Snape had just _talked_ to him, but he thought that would probably count as antagonizing. "If it doesn't matter to you, do you think my detention on Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve could be moved up to the middle of the day?" he asked instead. "So I can celebrate properly?"

"If you serve your detentions well enough, I will consider it," Snape replied, and Harry thought that was probably the nicest thing he'd ever said to him. "However, if you continue to arrive late and speak when I specifically instructed you to remain quiet, I will have no reason to be lenient."

Harry decided pointing out that three minutes barely counted as late would also be antagonizing. "Yes, Professor."

Harry stayed silent for the rest of detention, only occasionally glancing at Snape's cuffs. It occurred to him that his cuffs were right next to his hand, and he had nearly brushed his bare skin. He wondered if he'd be able to survive such an encounter if just cuffs had such a ridiculous effect. Especially since hands were meant for holding, while cuffs were only meant for keeping wrists warm or looking professional or something.

Not that he was thinking about holding Snape's hand, because that was even more idiotic than obsessing over cuffs, which was seriously saying something.

**10**

Harry slept in the common room that night. He was about to open the door to his dorm when he heard what sounded suspiciously like Ron and Hermione doing things he didn't want to see, which he thought was rather unfair given that he had spent two hours dealing with organs and poop and Snape. Despite a very convincing voice in the back of his head telling him to interrupt them for the sake of being mean he went back downstairs, grabbed one of the throws and collapsed onto a couch.

He thought back to last Saturday when he'd accidentally bumped Snape. Accidentally, because Malfoy had shoved Ron and Ron wasn't very graceful and had fallen against Harry. But if Malfoy was so concerned for his godfather's wellbeing, wouldn't he have been more careful than starting a domino effect leading directly to his annoyance? Then again, maybe he was just giving him an excuse to take points from Gryffindor. Or maybe it had been an accident and Harry was seriously overthinking everything and needed to get some sleep.

There was an interesting question, though, keeping him up. Was he expected to get Snape a Christmas gift, seeing as they were spending the holiday together? Probably not, since he didn't care about holidays. Then again, it might be an excuse to show Snape he wasn't like his father. If he did decide to get him something, what exactly would that something be? There were no more Hogsmeade visits before Christmas. Besides, he really shouldn't get him a gift at all.

Right?

He drifted to sleep thinking about white cuffs.

**11**

Harry arrived outside Snape's office at precisely six fifty-seven. He leaned against the wall, cast a Tempus charm, and watched the seconds tick by. At exactly seven o'clock he knocked on the door.

"Enter."

"I'm on time," Harry said as he walked in. "And I knocked."

"Congratulations, you have accomplished that which five year olds already know," Snape replied dryly.

Harry ignored the insult. He'd had a great day including chess, snowball fights and a bit of ice-skating around the edges of the Lake. There had been no run ins with Malfoy. Harry had come straight from dinner and was warm and pleasantly full. He was feeling downright optimistic about his detention; of course he wouldn't change Snape's mind about him, but he could get through the holidays without making their lives any harder.

"What potion today?" he asked cheerfully, causing Snape to look at his with a raised eyebrow.

"You're in a good mood," Snape remarked.

"It's holidays," Harry replied. "I'd rather not brew more Dragon dung, but I'm in a good mood, and not even poop will change that."

Snape glowered at him, but Harry was relatively sure confusion was buried beneath the façade. "No more fertilizer is required," he said. "It has been three years since I last had you brew a Draught of Peace. I would hope you retained enough information since to properly complete the potion."

Harry faltered, good cheer starting to slip away. He'd never brewed a successful batch, and he didn't think a three-year break would help. He forced a smile and said, "Sure, no problem. I didn't know Madame Pomfrey kept it on hand."

"It has nothing to do with her," Snape said. "Get to work. The instructions are at your station."

"Yes, sir."

Harry began the preparations, wondering if he'd ever willingly called Snape sir before. Probably not. But he wanted to retain his good mood and keep Snape happy—because it would make his life easier, not because Malfoy told him to and certainly not because he had feelings for the man and actually _wanted_ him to be happy. That was just bollocks.

It occurred to him that he hadn't been forbidden from talking today.

"Who's it for, then?" Harry asked as he powdered moonstone. "If not Madame Pomfrey?"

"The recipient is unrelated to your brewing capacities," Snape said.

"I know, I'm just making conversation," Harry replied lightly. "Once all the prep is done I'll have to pay attention, but powdering isn't the height of difficulty."

"What makes you think I'm interested in conversation?" Snape asked coolly.

"Malfoy said to be nice to you," Harry reminded him. "I don't usually take his advice but since we're stuck together for so long, we might as well get used to each other."

"We might as well not," Snape said irritably. "I have my own business to attend to and I see now reason to put it off in favor of speaking to you."

Right, of course he wouldn't. Harry was genuinely trying to be polite and make things easier, but he couldn't completely distance his feelings from the attempted conversation, and his stomach did that annoying twisty thing again at Snape's words. "Yes, sir," Harry repeated. "Sorry."

He brewed in silence, beginning to suspect that would be the most difficult part of this string of detentions. Not that he particularly enjoyed potions, especially the ones Snape was making him do, but the quiet was getting to him. It was lonely, and left time for his mind to wander. That particular combination led to thoughts regarding Snape he really shouldn't be having, especially not in his office.

It was just that it was so _stupid_. Snape would never admit to being lonely but Harry had seen it for himself in the Pensieve. If Snape would stop being so goddamned stubborn just for a minute, maybe he'd realize that they were both lonely, both in the same room, and both had the ability to change the situation. Of course he never would, he wouldn't even acknowledge that Harry had seen his memories in the first place.

Harry finished preparing the ingredients and started mixing. Well aware of what happened the last time he'd tried this he followed the instructions as closely as he was capable, double and triple checking each direction. When the time came to let the potion simmer, he let out a deep breath. It was a perfect turquoise and the beginnings of a silver mist were starting to rise. He had the hellebore ready and waiting and a Tempus charm set to sound after seven minutes. He sat in the chair, closed his eyes, and relaxed.

"What do you think you're doing, Potter?"

Harry opened his eyes to look at his professor. Maybe, more specifically his cuffs, but that wasn't relevant. "Simmering," he replied. "A little over six minutes to go, and then the hellebore syrup."

"You stirred seven times?"

"In both directions," Harry confirmed.

"The flame has been lowered?"

"Yup."

Snape narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "I find your sudden competence suspicious."

Harry couldn't resist a small smile. "I'm following your notes, not the book. You're much more clever."

Snape sneered at him. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Ever wonder why I did so well sixth year?" Harry asked. "I ended up with your book, the Half-Blood Prince's book. It's probably burned to a crisp now, but it was brilliant while it lasted."

"I am aware you were in possession of the book," Snape said. "Any improvement would be cause for suspicion, and your use of _Sectumsempra_ was hardly subtle."

Harry froze. He'd forgotten about that. Not about cursing Malfoy—no, he still felt far too guilty about that to ever forget—but where it came from. "I didn't know what it did. It just came to mind."

"The book burned, you said?" Snape seemed genuinely interested, and Harry was relatively sure he was cursed. He'd finally stumbled across something Snape wanted to talk about, and the conversation was quite literally timed.

"Crabbe used Fiendfyre the night of the final battle, while we were looking for the diadem," Harry said. "The whole place burned, him included. We tried to rescue him, but—"

"Yes, yes, I know," Snape interrupted dismissively. "Draco told me what happened. I was not aware my book was in the room at the time, that is all. I was curious as to where it ended up, but it is clearly irrelevant. Back to your potion, Potter."

Harry glanced at the Tempus charm. Three minutes left.

"If you care, Hermione hated the thing," Harry said. "For being smarter than her. She didn't trust it either, but mostly she was jealous."

A faint smile crossed Snape's face, barely there long enough for Harry to register it. "I do not need to be told I am more skilled at potions than a teenaged know-it-all. Whatever doubts and insecurities I may harbor, that is not one of them."

Did—did Snape just admit he had flaws? No, surely not. "And, well, if it matters, we probably couldn't have defeated Voldemort without _Muffliato_," Harry continued cautiously. "Especially finding the Horcruxes."

"I am at a loss as to why you continually feel the need to state the obvious," Snape said. "I am aware of my role in defeating the Dark Lord. The addition of a single spell is neither here nor there."

Harry was getting very sick of Snape's inability to take a compliment. Then again, his own motives were less than pure, so maybe he should just let it go. He let his mind drift.

"Enough!" Snape said suddenly, startling Harry out of his thoughts. "What is so interesting about my hand?"

Harry had to work very hard to keep his face impassive. "Sorry, what?"

"Don't play games, Potter," Snape said sharply. "You've been staring at my hand since your first detention. My right hand, specifically. Why?"

Harry was spared having to answer by the timer going off. He leaped to his feet and went back to his potion. He added the hellebore syrup and followed the rest of the directions exactly. It only took a few minutes, and instead of handing the flask to Snape, he floated it over to the man, keeping his back turned.

"Is that all tonight, Professor?" Harry asked, not looking at him under the guise of cleaning the station.

"You have twenty minutes remaining," Snape replied. "I will give you a choice: you may sit quietly without saying a single word, or you can tell me why my hand has suddenly become so very interesting. You have found yet another means of provoking me, and while I congratulate you for your creativity, I am not interested in indulging you."

"I really wasn't staring—"

"Lie to me again and I'll add another day to your detention," Snape interrupted. "However, the choice is yours. Sit down and shut up or tell me and end this stupidity."

Harry thought very hard. He didn't want to stay, especially since apparently he had no control over where he was looking or any sense of subtlety, but he wasn't thrilled with the concept of telling Snape, either. It would not, in fact, end any stupidity, just make it worse.

"I'm waiting, Potter."

"Your cuffs are soft, sir," Harry blurted out. That was relatively safe, sort of. Snape almost certainly had no memory of the altercation in the Great Hall over a week ago, and even if he did, those five words didn't mean anything. Snape never told him he had to reveal the motives behind why he was staring, just the reason. And, strictly speaking, when everything else was boiled away, that was it. "I'll go now. Tomorrow at seven exactly."

He left very quickly.

He had to sleep in the common room again. He would have to have a word with Ron and Hermione tomorrow.

**12**

Breakfast was quiet and awkward. Harry had confronted his friends about their nighttime activities and while they promised it wouldn't happen again, it was still embarrassing on everyone's end. Conversation was finally starting to pick up again—Hermione brought up homework, and Ron and Harry had to unite against her—when they were interrupted.

"Potter," Snape said smoothly.

Harry jumped. Merlin the man was quiet. He turned around to face his professor. "Yes, sir?"

"Your detention will not be served in my office this evening," he replied. "Be at the painting of Barnabas the Barmy on the seventh floor at seven."

Harry blinked. That was right by the Room of Requirement. "Um, yeah," he said, confused. "Yes, sir, I mean. Barnabas and dancing trolls. Got it."

Snape's parting words were, "Bring your wand."

Harry stared after him before turning back around.

"What was that about?" Ron asked. "Why'd he want to go to the Room of Requirement? The whole place is wrecked."

"Maybe he wants me to clean it," Harry said dully. "Blames me for setting it on fire or something and decided I'm responsible for fixing it."

Hermione was frowning lightly. "Does it even still open?"

Harry shrugged. "Guess I'll find out."

"I thought he had you making potions," Ron said. "Not cleaning."

"I'm his for seventeen days, I'm sure he'll make me do a whole host of things," Harry replied mournfully. Then he paused. "Er, that came out wrong. Detention, lots of detention, that was my point."

Ron clapped him on the shoulder. "Course it was. Any luck with the other thing?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, he said he's in love with me and wants to spend the rest of his life with me and I just forgot to tell you." Another pause. "Well, er, he did ask about the cuff thing."

"You're _still_ going on about that?" Ron asked. "Merlin's beard, Harry, it wasn't—how'd he even find out anyway? You might be obsessing, but presumably you're not daft enough to tell him."

"Apparently he caught me staring," Harry mumbled. "A few times."

Hermione shook her head. "Ron's right. You've got to let it go. It was just a touch, and hardly even that."

"I know," Harry muttered angrily, more upset with himself than anyone else. "I really, truly know exactly how pathetic it is. I'm working on it."

"So what did you say?" Ron continued. "When he asked?"

"That, um, his cuffs are soft," Harry said. "That's it. Nothing else."

"D'you think he knows what you're talking about?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged again. "Not a clue."

"Harry," Hermione said gently. "I know sometimes you think you're being brave or clever, but in these circumstances, I really think you should just keep your head down and get through your detentions without making a stand. Again. It'll only make it worse for you."

"Thanks, that never occurred to me," Harry replied angrily. "He brought it up, not me. I've been fine. I told you, I made a bloody Draught of Peace. By myself. Perfectly."

"I know, I'm very proud of you," Hermione said soothingly.

Harry pushed his plate away. "I'm not hungry anymore. I think I'm gonna go fly for a while, clear my head. I'll see you later."

**13**

Flying did clear his head, at least for a little bit. It was bitingly cold but bright and clear, and the only wind was from urging his broom faster and faster. He stayed over the Quidditch field at first before wandering away, eventually ending up circling the Black Lake. The squid was feeling playful and Harry was in the middle of a game of tag when his name was shouted. He nearly fell off his broom in surprise, the squid righting him before diving back into the depths of the lake.

"What are you doing out here?" Harry yelled, coming to a stop. "How did you even find me?"

"What did you say to Severus last night?" Malfoy shot back. "I went up for a cup of tea and he nearly eviscerated me. I didn't even get in the door."

"Nothing!" Harry protested. "I made a Draught of Peace; if anything he should have been relaxed."

"What did he say to you at breakfast?" Malfoy asked.

"None of your business," Harry snapped. "I don't know why you're suddenly so interested, but leave me alone." He started to fly away but suddenly Malfoy was at his side and grabbed his broom, yanking him to a stop.

"I told you, I care about him," Malfoy said. "I have no interest in your life."

"Then care about him some other way," Harry spat, trying and failing to free his broom from Malfoy's grip. He'd forgotten the prat was a decent flier, and he kept pace with Harry's movements. "I only see him for two hours a day, and I get points docked if I talk. He tells me what to brew and I brew it. End of story."

"I highly doubt that's all," Malfoy sneered. "You're an insufferable prat whether you aim to be or not. I've never asked you for anything before, and all I want is for you to not be a git around him for two bloody weeks. I asked _nicely_. Is that really too much?"

Harry couldn't figure out what was going on. "I'm not," he said honestly. "Really. I'm being as quiet and inoffensive as humanly possible. If he was upset, it's not my fault."

Draco sighed in frustration, but he let go of Harry's broom. "Bloody hell," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "He didn't say anything to you?"

"No," Harry replied indignantly. "Of course not. He barely speaks to me. Why are you so convinced I'm the problem anyway? He doesn't care about me. At all. One way or the other."

Malfoy groaned in exasperation. "You're an idiot!" he yelled. "Both of you! For fuck's sake I'm just trying to help! Forget it. Go back to the bloody squid; if you annoy it at least it'll eat you and I won't have to hear about it."

This time it was Harry who stopped Malfoy from leaving. "What're you talking about?" he asked, flying directly in front of him, blocking his path. "Helping what?"

Malfoy snorted. "As if. Figure it out yourself or don't, I'm over it." He tried to turn away, and Harry grabbed his broom. Malfoy let out another groan. "This is why I don't do nice things, Potter."

"What is why?" Harry demanded. "What nice thing? What are you helping?"

Malfoy regarded him, and Harry was almost positive his response was genuine. "It's not my place to say."

Harry was relatively sure his head was about to explode, followed by his stomach forcing itself out his esophagus. He had no idea what was going on and that twisty thing was back and his head was spinning and nothing made any sense at all. "Then why bring it up at all?" he asked.

"I didn't think you needed a reason to be a decent person," Malfoy replied. "I thought that came with the whole Gryffindor savior of the world crap. Suppose it's good to know you're not as much of a saint as everyone thinks, though."

"I was decent," Harry said again. "He doesn't hate me and I don't hate him. I wouldn't go so far as to say we're _nice_ to each other, but decent, yeah. Civil."

"Try being nice," Malfoy said. "Genuinely nice, not just decent."

"I did that, too," Harry replied, not sure why he was explaining himself to Malfoy. "I tried talking to him, being friendly, all that. He told me to shut up."

Malfoy sighed. "Then just do that, I guess. Can I have my broom back now?"

"I don't understand," Harry said bluntly.

"You're not meant to," Malfoy replied. "Please can I go? It's bloody freezing."

Harry let go. "Thanks, I guess. For trying to make things easier."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Rest assured, I couldn't care less about making your life easier. Some things never change."

Malfoy took off and Harry was left to decipher the conversation.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Those days where you oversleep and you're still exhausted? Those days suck. Especially because I was only up so late because I had writers block and, of course, I didn't get inspired until very 't just _stop_.

**Chapter Four**

**14**

When Harry arrived at the portrait Snape was already there.

"I'm not late," Harry said preemptively.

"I am aware of the time," Snape replied. "Open the Room."

Harry didn't, not immediately. "The storage room? The one that burned down? It could still be on fire, I'm not sure how Fiendfyre works."

Snape glowered at him. "Do you think I would tell you to open it if I thought y!

"Er, no," Harry replied anxiously. "Why can't you?"

"Because I told you to," Snape said irritably. "This is detention, Potter, not an evening stroll. Do what I tell you."

Harry was torn, but he did what Snape asked. "I need the place where everything is hidden," he said quietly, pacing in front of the wall. The door appeared and Harry looked at it, realizing he was starting to shake and not being able to stop himself. The last time he was in here was the night of the battle. Crabbe had died. Harry, Ron and Hermione had almost died. They'd saved Malfoy and Goyle. Everything was burning, smoke curling up. He could barely breathe and Malfoy's arms were clamped around him so tightly it was painful. Outside the room was life. Outside the room was death.

"Potter?"

The voice was coming from far away and Harry barely heard it. The door was singed around the edges, like the fire had tried to escape. It had been held back, obviously, the whole castle hadn't burned and the door was unscathed except for the edges, but those edges, they were—blackened and—and…

**15**

Harry opened his eyes. Snape was kneeling in front of him, looking—looking concerned? Why was he kneeling?

"Harry, do you remember what happened?" Snape asked, and his voice was—was soft? Kind? Harry felt very fuzzy.

"I—uh, no?" Harry tried. "Am I on the floor?"

Snape nodded. That explained why he was kneeling, why Harry was sitting on and leaning against something hard and cold, and also probably the slight pain in his arse and left wrist.

Harry's eyes flew to his wrist. Snape was saying something but it flew over his head. His wrist, his left wrist, the one that hurt, Snape was holding it. His grip was loose but stable, his hand warm and strong. His fingers were calloused and rough but reassuring. As he stared the pain faded away completely. Harry's first thought was that Snape was magic, and then he realized how ridiculous that was. Of course he was magic, he was a wizard. Harry was on the floor and he still didn't exactly know why but presumably he had fainted or something, and he'd probably landed wrong on his wrist, and Snape had fixed him.

"Harry," Snape said sharply, and Harry's eyes flicked from his wrist to Snape's face. He was looking concerned. Harry had never seen his eyes so close before. They weren't black after all, just very dark brown. "I need you to focus. Are you okay?"

"I think so," Harry replied, still very confused. "My arse hurts."

A brief smile flashed across Snape's face. "That is to be expected. How's your wrist?"

Harry turned back to it. Snape was holding his wrist. His wrist was fairly perfect, but he couldn't say that. "Er, fine. It stopped hurting."

"Good." Snape let him go and Harry immediately felt the loss. "You didn't hit your head and I healed your wrist. You'll be fine. Do you remember what happened?"

Harry rubbed his eyes, skewing his classes. "Fire," he said slowly. "Smoke, and—oh, Merlin." He squeezed his eyes closed and covered them entirely with his hand. "The Room of Requirement. Yeah, I remember." He dropped his hand. "I'm sorry, this is humiliating. How long was I out for?"

"No more than a minute," Snape replied. He reached into his robes and pulled out a small bar of chocolate, the size that Muggles handed out on Halloween. "Eat this."

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm fine." He started to stand and Snape pushed him down. He left his hand on Harry's shoulder, and that didn't help with the coherency.

"Stay seated and eat this." He shoved the chocolate into Harry's hand and Harry took it, unable to help himself. One of Snape's hands was on his shoulder, the other was pushing chocolate at him, and that hand had just been holding his wrist. He was close. He looked concerned, though less so now. Images of that last night in the Room of Requirement were flashing through his mind. Abject terror and the smell of Crabbe burning and the smoke in his lungs, suffocating him.

Everything was so fuzzy.

Snape sighed irritably and took the chocolate back. He unwrapped it and handed it back to Harry. "Please do not make me feed you."

That successfully pulled Harry out of his thoughts. He jerked his hand away from Snape's and ate the chocolate. It helped, sort of. The memories were still there but they were no longer so immediate. They were back in the past, where they belonged. He stopped shaking and his heart stopped racing.

"I haven't been here since—"

"There is no reason to explain," Snape interrupted, pulling away and standing up. "Many have been affected by the war, it is nothing to be ashamed of. Take your time; I do not want you to faint again."

Harry flushed. He had just started to think that Snape was being reasonable, and then he had to ruin it by saying something like that. Harry was embarrassed enough without Snape saying it like that.

He did take his time, though. This was the first time he'd fainted this year, but he'd thrown up in the middle of the welcome feast, and couldn't sleep through the night for the first few weeks. He wasn't the only one, not in the slightest, but he was the one who everyone was looking to for guidance. The welcome feast incident had been in front of everyone, but he'd still managed to be relatively discreet, and several students had gone into hysterics, and that was what people remembered. The nightmares were managed with silencing charms on his bed. This, though. The only person here was the one he didn't want to see his weak side. It was humiliating. Dementors all over again.

Also, his wrist was tingling. So was his shoulder, and his hand.

Harry pulled himself to his feet, first using the wall as support to make sure he was stable and then stepping away. He forced himself to look at his professor. "I'm okay," he said again. "I'm good. Thanks for fixing my wrist, and for the chocolate."

"Come, we are going down to my office," Snape replied. "Clearly you are not fit for this particular task. You will be brewing—"

"No, I'm fine," Harry said firmly. "I told you I'm fine, and I don't need to be coddled."

"Potter, I have no interest in babysitting you, or being your therapist," Snape replied. "Once again I remind you that you are serving detention with me, and you will do what I tell you."

"You told me to open the Room and I did," Harry said. The door was there, and he walked over and threw it open. He kept his eyes on Snape, though, rather than looking into the room. "I made the door appear and I opened it. I don't know why you wanted me to, but I did it. Whatever I needed to get out of my system, I did that, too. Can we move on?"

Snape studied him. "You do not need to prove yourself to me."

Harry took a step into the room, still looking at his professor. He didn't know what to say, because he really did need to prove himself to Snape, but of course he couldn't tell him that. "Malfoy talked to me again. He said I wasn't nice enough, and something I was doing made you upset. So I'm being nicer. It's your detention, we'll do what you want."

A lot of that wasn't what Harry meant to say, and Snape was entirely aware of it. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were ordering me around," Snape said smoothly. "Lucky for you, I do know better. Move out of the door, then, and hurry up."

Harry finally turned around and walked into the room properly. Or started to, at least, but stopped still when he registered what was in front of him. He stumbled forward when Snape slammed into him, and jerked back when Snape grabbed his shoulder to prevent him from falling, all the while muttering angrily under his breath. Harry himself was speechless and barely registered Snape's presence at all.

Ash was everywhere. Piles and drifts and whole landscapes of ash. Rising up were bookcases, chairs, and boxes; a thousand years of hidden things. The room was—was rebuilding itself? Was that even possible?

"Move, Potter," Snape said irritably, and Harry stepped to the side unthinkingly.

"How—?"

Snape scoffed. "You did not truly believe the likes of Vincent Crabbe could destroy Hogwarts, did you? The castle is much older and much more clever than Crabbe."

Harry wasn't sure how that logic tracked, but he let it go. Hogwarts had been full of surprises since his first day; this was just another in a long line of impossibilities. "So what're we doing?" he asked. The room was so big it was hard to think about. He'd known that before, but now that it was largely empty he could see just how far it stretched on.

"You have a penchant for finding things," Snape said sourly. "Mostly things you are not supposed to find. My book had many protection spells on it, and I want it back."

It took Harry a moment to connect the two sentences. "We're here looking for your old potions book?" he asked, looking at Snape.

"As you so clearly proved, it is not safe to leave lying around," Snape replied, shooting him a look. "Additionally, I have not looked through it in many years, and I find I am curious. I never confiscated it when you found it, and…" He trailed off, then glared at Harry. "It is none of your concern why I want it. The book is mine, and you are under my direction. That is all you need to know."

"Okay," Harry said slowly. He took out his wand. "Er, sure. _Accio_ potions book!" Nothing happened.

"There are many spells on my book, I told you," Snape repeated, though he looked more proud than upset. "Repelling summoning charms is only one. I am not sure if it could survive Fiendfyre, but it is a possibility. However, I do not wish to waste time looking for what isn't there. We will split up and each cover half the room. If we do not find it by the end of your detention, I will consider it gone."

"Extended detention, then?" Harry asked, kicking a small pile of ash.

"No," Snape replied. "Two hours should suffice." He waved his wand and a glowing blue line divided the room in half. "Take the left. I will let you know when two hours have passed."

"Sure," Harry said, surveying the expanse before him. How was he supposed to find anything in here? The ash was at least five or six inches deep at its most shallow, never mind the piles and drifts and landscapes. He could hear Snape muttering spells under his breath but he didn't look over to see what was doing; that would have felt like cheating.

Less altruistically, this gave him a puzzle, and he needed something to focus on to avoid going crazy. The last time he had been here combined with the physical contact from Snape was too much to process. Figuring out how to find a book was better. And frustrating. But still better.

**16**

"Time is up."

Harry jerked. They hadn't spoken in two hours, the only sounds being the quiet casting of spells, the swish of ash moving around and the occasional sneeze. He looked over his shoulder at Snape, who was a football field away. He was frowning, his arms were crossed, and his black robes were a patchy grey from the ash.

"Do you want to keep looking?" Harry asked. "There's a lot of room left. We could keep going, if you'd like."

Snape was too far away to see his expression. "This is the second time you have offered to extend your detention," he replied. "It is unnerving, and I am not a man who is easily unnerved."

"I'm being nice," Harry said, trying to keep annoyance out of his voice. "I'm flattered you think it's unnerving."

"Is this Draco's doing?" Snape asked. "Has he threatened you?"

"No," Harry replied, tightening his grip on his wand to keep his voice in check. "We're indifferent towards each other, remember? Don't care either way. I'm the sort of guy who offers help, as long as the person isn't a complete arse. So I'm offering help. In the spirit of apathy."

Snape let out an annoyed sigh. "Your detention is over," he said. "I have no control over what you do. If you would like to spend your evening sifting through piles of ash, you are welcome to do so."

"Fine, I will," Harry replied, because he absolutely sounded apathetic and not anything else. "Are you staying?"

"I have come this far," he said, surveying the room. "It would be foolish to stop now."

"Well there you go," Harry said, turning back to his work. He was being stupid. He knew that. Everything from the past had faded away, leaving only how Snape had cared for him when he'd fainted and what Malfoy had said and what Harry felt. He was trying to stay between indifferent and nice, but he was pretty sure he crossed both those lines and was back in the same sort of suspicious territory that had gotten him detention in the first place. His feelings towards Snape were irrelevant. He needed to get over himself.

What really surprised Harry was that he was still focused on Snape's cuff. Snape's hand had been on his shoulder. He had held his wrist. He'd called him Harry. And he was still stuck on the cuff.

It's just that his cuff was _soft_. He hadn't thought it would be soft. He'd thought starched and cold, but it hadn't been. Soft and warm.

Of course that wasn't all, and he wasn't only focused on the cuff. Mostly, yes. But there was also how his first name had sounded coming from Snape. Good, that was how. Low and sensual and caring. His hand was warm and calloused and strong. His eyes were the color of really dark, really expensive chocolate. All of those things had been expected, had Harry thought about them beforehand. Of course his name would sound good, of course his hand was wonderful, of course his eyes weren't entirely black, eyes weren't black.

But his cuff, though. He really hadn't thought his cuff would be soft.

Somehow the softness of Snape's cuff was directly responsible for Harry continuing to shift through an infinity of ash looking for something that had no doubt been incinerated along with everything else, he just wasn't sure how.

**17**

Harry was very glad he stayed.

Fifteen minutes later he found it. "Snape!" he called, dusting off the familiar cover. "I got it!" _Advanced Potion Making_ stared up at him, complete with the familiar 1950s style illustration and battered cover. _Property of the Half-Blood Prince_. "It's not damaged at all," he remarked, flipping through the pages. "What spells did you use on it?"

"None of your business," Snape said, suddenly at his side, sending up a cloud of ash. Harry started coughing, waving the air in front of his face with the book. "Stop that," he snapped, grabbing his book.

"It survived Fiendfyre, it can handle being a fan," Harry wheezed. "A thank you might be nice."

"You were the one who hid it here in the first place," Snape replied, slowly leafing through the book.

Harry stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans. It was hopeless; his pants were as dusty as the rest of him, he was just rubbing the ash in. His glasses were covered, too, but there was no way his shirt would help the situation. No, he needed a shower, a washing machine and a microfiber cloth, none of which were available in this room.

"I'm going to head out," he said, walking towards the door. "Detention back at your office tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Snape replied vaguely.

Harry ground his teeth together. Of course Snape wouldn't thank him, or acknowledge that he had done something nice. Indifference, that was all. Really, really infuriating indifference. He opened the door and took a grateful breath of fresh air. He hadn't realized the Room was so dry and acrid until now.

"Potter, wait," Snape called suddenly. "_Detergeo_."

The ash vanished. Harry's clothes, hands and glasses were as clean as before they started, probably even cleaner. "Uh, thanks," he stammered, surprised.

"I do not need Filch giving you detention," Snape replied. "Your evenings are mine, no one else's."

Harry gaped at him. What—what the hell? Snape sounded almost possessive of him, like maybe he wanted to spend time with him. That was not possible. Absolutely not.

"I do not wish to extend your detention beyond the break," Snape continued, seeming to realize what he'd said. "You are difficult enough after a day of relaxing, let alone teaching, and heaven forbid after your class. I can hardly tolerate your presence once a day, I have no interest in prolonging our contact."

That was more like it. Harry blamed the twisting in his stomach on inhaling too much ash, which made no sense, even to him. "Right. See you tomorrow, then."

Snape waved his hand dismissively, and Harry left.

**18**

Harry had a lot of explaining to do that night. First he needed to explain why he was late and, in order to do that, he needed to go back and tell Ron and Hermione about his second conversation with Malfoy. He hadn't mentioned their first, so he needed to add that, too. There was a brief derailment around his fainting, but Harry kept the focus on Snape's reaction to him, not his own reaction to the Room.

When he finally finished, Ron and Hermione were staring at him.

"Your day has been stranger than mine," Ron decided. "I've been doing homework and—"

"Ron, shut up," Hermione whispered, elbowing him. "But yes, Harry, that is very strange. At least parts of it; I don't want you to take stock in the wrong things, and I can see you already are. I know how much Snape's reactions must mean to you, but I really think it isn't healthy for you to see anything into them. He's your professor and he has a responsibility to his students."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said, and while he did know, it was still twisty to hear Hermione say it so blatantly. "Forget about that. It's the Malfoy stuff that's weird. Why does he suddenly care how Snape and I get along? He said that Snape was in a foul mood after detention on Sunday and I was actually nice that day, and almost impressive, sort of. The Draught of Peace, remember?"

"Maybe you did it wrong?" Ron suggested. "He took it expecting to be peaceful but turned into a git instead?"

"No, he'd have told me if I did it wrong," Harry replied. "I'm sure he would've. He'd have made me redo it or something." He glanced at Hermione, who looked as though she was in pain. He sighed. "What is it, 'Mione?"

"Well, that's the night he asked about you staring at his cuff, right?" she asked quietly. "Maybe you were annoying him and not realizing it."

Harry glared at her. "I'd expect he's used to being stared at by now," he replied testily. "He wouldn't care if it was me or where I was staring or why."

"Clearly he does," she continued. "Otherwise he wouldn't have said anything."

Twisty, twisty, twisty. "Fine, but minor annoyance and yelling at Malfoy aren't the same thing," Harry said. "Probably, I dunno. I don't know what they're relationship is like. If I did, maybe I'd know why exactly Malfoy feels he's being 'nice' and 'helpful'."

"That's the thing," Hermione said. "We don't know anything, and you're reading into what isn't there. Snape could have been upset about something else entirely. Draco genuinely wants his godfather to be happy, and he likes blaming you for everything."

"That's not what I'm saying!" Harry exclaimed.

There was a second moment of silence.

"What are you saying, mate?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," Harry admitted, propping his elbows on his legs and leaning his head in his hands. "I just—I really don't know. That it's strange, that's all. That maybe something is strange. You both said it was strange. What happened to strange?"

"We're talking about Snape and Malfoy," Ron replied. "They're always going to be strange."

"Hermione?" Harry asked miserably.

"It is strange that Draco is suddenly taking an interest," she said. "I would have thought he'd always have bothered you about it or never mentioned it. Even if you factor in that Snape isn't undercover anymore, I would have thought if Draco was going to bring it up, he would have at the beginning of the year. Then again…"

Harry sighed again. "Out with it."

"You were getting along at the beginning of the year," she said uncomfortably. "It's only since you turned in that paper and started fighting with Snape all the time that Draco stepped in."

"Can we just—strange!" Harry burst out. "It's strange! Just leave me with it's strange, okay? Forget everything else—which is a lot—and we don't need to decide on _what's_ strange, I just want it to be strange."

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea," Hermione replied softly. "You might want to, er, let it go."

Harry glared at her. "I don't like you."

"I just don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm not going to get hurt," Harry said sharply. "I'm fine. It's strange, that's all."

"You've said strange a lot," Ron replied.

"Very strange then!" Harry yelled. "Look, it's late. I'm going to bed. See you in the morning."

All Harry wanted to do was sleep but it wasn't happening. There was too much on his mind, and very little of what he was thinking about was conducive to sleep. It was Snape's hands. The use of Harry's first name. How Snape had seemed genuinely concerned, and possible in more than a strictly professor sort of way, maybe, if Harry stretched it. Regardless of what Snape meant, the slipup about how Harry's evenings belonged to him.

And his bloody cuffs.

Harry cast a quick locking charm on the dorm.

Eventually he fell asleep thinking about white cuffs.

**19**

Harry made certain not to mention Snape or Malfoy once that Tuesday. He was aware that, over the years, he had a tendency to talk a lot about both of them for one reason or another. He was also aware that this was possibly the most annoying reason for his rants, and definitely the most pathetic. So, for today, and maybe tomorrow if he had a particularly good hold on his self-control, he wouldn't say anything.

He also didn't give Malfoy a chance to talk to him. He spent the day in the Gryffindor common room studying, much to Hermione's delight and Ron's annoyance. It was good, though, in a way. He was useful and productive and nobody was telling him what to do or how to do it. Well, except for Hermione, but he was used to that and didn't mind anymore.

In keeping with staying quiet, no words were said when he left for detention.

Harry was on time and knocked.

"Enter."

He'd also gotten the hang of this, and glanced over to his left. The potion station was set up. "May I ask you a question, sir?"

Snape looked up from his book, the first time Harry had managed to get his attention so quickly all year. "What is it, Potter?"

"Was my Draught of Peace right?" Harry asked.

Snape frowned. "Passable," he said tightly.

"I'm confused, then." Harry rushed ahead before he could remember all the reasons he'd had for not doing this exact thing. "Malfoy told me you were upset that night, and—"

"My life does not revolve around you," Snape interrupted tersely. "Your brewing skills have no effect on me. Nor is my mood any of your business. Instructions and ingredients for a Calming Draught are waiting."

"Right," Harry said dejectedly, wondering if it was possible to sound more pathetic. He didn't need to look at the instructions; he'd spent most of his summer with what remained of the Order, and Calming Draughts were nearly more common than coffee. He could brew one in his sleep, and it'd probably taste better than what passed for coffee at Grimmauld Place.

Which is why he was confused when he came to the dried elder flowers.

Harry consulted the instructions. Snape had written them out rather than give him a book, and dried elder flowers were indeed among the list of ingredients. They were to be powdered and added first, left to simmer for the full length of the brew. He glanced over his shoulder; Snape was back to reading. Harry could ask him, but he didn't think that would go over well. The last time he thought an ingredient might have been a test it had been thrown back in his face as incompetence.

It was just that he was _sure_ elder flowers didn't go in a Calming Draught.

"Professor?" Harry asked quietly.

"Follow the instructions," Snape replied.

Harry shifted nervously. "But—"

"Do as I say, Potter," Snape interrupted. "I wrote them out myself, there are no mistakes."

Well. Fine. Harry followed the instructions.

He had been working on the potion for fifteen minutes or so when it started to emit a pale yellow vapor. He checked the instructions; a vapor wasn't mentioned. He ran over everything he'd done, and it had all been by the book or, in these circumstances, by Snape's writing. The last thing he wanted to do was bother Snape again, especially when he had been told so explicitly to follow the instructions. So he continued on.

Another half hour and Harry was ready to add the last ingredient. He thought. Focusing had been steadily getting more and more difficult, but he had been triple checking everything, and he was positive it was time to add the peppermint. He knew what he was doing, he'd done it a hundred times before. Last to go in was peppermint. Not maybe, not potentially, but definitely. It made the whole room smell pleasantly of the herb, and he thought it entirely possible the smell still lingered at both Grimmauld Place and the Burrow.

So he added the sprig.

The pale yellow vapor intensified, clouding Harry's vision entirely. It smelled like peppermint. He waved his hand, trying to disperse the cloud, and took a breath. Not a big one, just the sort that went along with living. He could feel the vapor sliding down his throat and settling in his lungs. He started coughing, and that only made it worse. The unpleasant heaviness was replaced with the sensation of tightening and swelling and then he wasn't coughing anymore because he couldn't breathe at all. His world narrowed to his lungs and the vapor and how his eyes were watering from lack of air and he wasn't going to be able to stand much longer if he couldn't take a decent breath but with every miniscule gasp he drew more of the vapor in and his vision was starting to turn grey.

Two thoughts occurred to him simultaneously. The first was that Snape had finally succeeded in poisoning him. The second was that he was going to faint in front of him _again_.

For the second day in a row, he did.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I had _so much fun_ writing this chapter. If you like reading it even half as much as I like writing it, we're golden.

Also, that mess of a typo in my last A/N? That would be my kitten saying hi and me not noticing until it was published. Whoops.

**Chapter Five**

**20**

Harry was coughing again. Something hard was slowly working its way down his throat, and it was extraordinarily uncomfortable. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, trying to cough up whatever it was.

"Stop it," Snape said.

Hands were on the sides of Harry's head, forcing him back down. His coughing intensified, but the hands were very strong and he couldn't get up. A few moments later the hard thing passed into his stomach and he could breathe again.

Very uncomfortably, though. His lungs were aching and his throat was scraped from the hard thing, but at least he was breathing. He had vague memories of not being able to do that.

"Ughh?" Harry tried.

"Can you breathe?" Snape asked.

"Yeaughh," Harry replied. He took a few painful breaths and licked his lips. "Yeh." That was a little better.

"You swallowed the bezoar stone?"

That's what that was? "Yeuh." Harry coughed, and a hand brushed over his forehead. "Whuuh?" Harry frowned. His thoughts were clear, at least about what he wanted to say. Everything else was fuzzy, but he knew what he wanted to say. Why wasn't his mouth working? "Happed?"

"The potion was—" Snape hesitated. "—not a success."

Harry pushed himself onto his elbows again, and was pushed down again. He coughed some more. "Flowed." Bloody hell. Elder flowers. Flowers. _Flowers_. "Flow?"

"Harry—"

"Ngg!" Harry exclaimed. "Ngg, yeeld flowed."

"The elder flowers," Snape said. Properly. Harry resented that a lot. "They were—a mistake."

Why did he keep hesitating? What wasn't he saying? "Vayygh." Harry frowned again. He waved his hands in the air. At least they worked. "Yeeld flowed vayygh. An hess—heshiss—bleargh." Goddammit. Elder flower vapor. Hesitating. What was wrong with his tongue? "Tong."

"Harry, stop talking," Snape replied. "I don't know what happened, either to the potion or you, but I can't understand you."

Harry's heart started pounding. Snape never used contractions. Ever. This was not good. Which was obvious, he knew that, but it was _really_ not good if Snape was using contractions. He waved his hands again. "Yeeld flowed vayygh!"

"I know the elder flowers were not standard," Snape said uncharacteristically quietly.

Harry slammed his hands down on the floor. "Vayygh!"

"Stop," Snape said firmly. "I need to ask you questions. Can you understand me?"

Harry focused very hard. "Yehgh." His teeth clenched. This was infuriating. And sort of terrifying. The bezoar stone should have cured him. He could breathe now, yes, but if he couldn't talk, that would have a drastically unpleasant effect on his life.

"Are your thoughts clear?"

"Yeeyh."

"Do you remember what happened?"

Something inside Harry snapped. "Vayygh! Blooghy yeeld flowed vayygh! I nee tssh rogg buth yee—"

"Shh," Snape interrupted, once again running a hand over his forehead. "You'll be okay. You do remember, then?"

Harry nodded furiously, on the verge of tears. "Vayygh. Payye yeel vayygh." He closed his eyes in frustration. "Yegsh."

"Can you sit?"

Harry would've liked to say something about how he would have known by now if Snape had let him try but until his mouth was working, it wasn't worth it. Instead he rose to his elbows again, and when that worked, fully sat up. "Yeaughh."

"Good."

Harry scooted around and finally looked at Snape. His expression was easily recognizable, if bizarre to see on Snape—guilt. Had he tried to poison him, then? But if so, then why try to save him? No, probably not poison. Maybe an experiment, though. That made some sort of sense, especially with all the hesitating. He was embarrassed to admit he'd messed up a potion.

The rest of what happened crashed down around him. Not the almost dying part, or not being able to talk, but Snape. He'd used Harry's first name again. He'd held his head. He'd stroked his forehead. _Twice_. Nothing hurt, so either Snape had healed him or—or maybe caught him? He'd taken a while to pass out, the grey had come on slowly, so maybe he'd had time to come over.

"Whuuh necksh?"

"You need to go to the hospital wing," Snape replied, though Harry thought the fact that he answered his question was coincidental. "I don't feel comfortable giving you anything until we know more."

"Buuhh thsh yigg pothshnin!" Harry protested. "Poaumfreeg dowshn—"

"Please stop," Snape said, wincing. "I can't—"

"—ungedstash meeg," Harry finished dully. "Buuhh coald yee thrigh—"

"Hmm," Snape said suddenly. "Perhaps… wait here a moment."

"Beckash ayem shthippid eenught tug fleefl nough," Harry replied through gritted teeth.

"Hush," Snape said absentmindedly. He tilted a book out of one of the many shelves, the bookcase shimmered away, and Snape disappeared through the opening. It solidified as soon as he was through, and Harry glared after him. He might not be able to speak, but that didn't mean he needed to be talked down to, or that he was completely useless.

Harry moved from the floor to the chair by the desk. He carefully scooted it away from the cauldron, not even looking at the contents lest something else happen. He crossed his arms, then readjusted so he was cupping his elbows. He kept flipping back and forth between annoyance and fear. What if Snape couldn't fix him? That wasn't terribly likely, Snape could fix most things, but what if this wasn't one of them? He couldn't cure Dumbledore of the curse from the Horcrux, he wasn't perfect. Then again, this was hardly a Horcrux. On the other hand, he had no idea what it was, so maybe…

Snape stepped out of the still-solid bookcase. "Before I take you to Madame Pomfrey, try this," he said, handing Harry a small vial of lilac liquid.

"Whuuh isght?" Harry asked, uncorking it and sniffing. It also smelled like peppermint, which made his stomach churn.

"It's an antidote to a spell I invented," Snape said. "It may help."

"Yeaughh nivengteth shish tough?" Harry asked nervously.

"Harry, please," Snape said, all but begging.

Harry downed the potion. A tingling shot through him and he shivered uncontrollably. It stopped, then immediately started again, radiating out from his stomach to the tips of his fingers and toes, only this time it didn't stop. The tingles continued to cycle through him and he was shivering uncontrollably. "Snaugh?" he asked shakily, all annoyance replaced with fear. "Whughs haggnepig?"

"Bloody hell," Snape muttered, resting a hand on his forehead for the third time, though the small part of Harry that was still rational thought he was probably checking for a fever. "You don't feel warm. We've got to go to the infirmary. Now."

Harry stood on shaky legs. He took a step and stumbled. Snape reached out with lightening speed and grabbed his arm, steadying him. "Thausksh," Harry said. He noticed that even while his entire body was shaking, the tingles from Snape's hand still felt different.

"Come on," Snape said, guiding him out of his office. "Be careful on the stairs. Don't talk, I'll explain what happened."

"Yeeg joush bamashed," Harry replied bitterly, trying to mask his fear with anger.

"Don't talk," Snape repeated, and Harry thought he was probably doing exactly the same thing. If he was capable of fear, which was a pretty big if.

**21**

The walk to the infirmary was long, difficult and terrifying. Not only was Harry become steadily more and more positive he'd spend the rest of his life like this, but Snape had been right and stairs were extraordinarily unsafe. There were a lot of stairs between the second floor and the infirmary.

Things didn't get better when they arrived. Harry was deposited on a cot and Snape swept Madame Pomfrey into her office, leaving him alone. Harry slipped under the blankets, needing the comfort more than the warmth. He stayed seated, gripping the edge of the blanket, trying to still at least his hands. It didn't work. Nothing worked. Shaky and incomprehensible for the rest of his life. That was exactly the happy ending he had been looking for.

After what seemed like ages, Snape and Madame Pomfrey emerged. She looked furious and he looked chagrined, which was another bizarre expression. Bizarre and scary, given the circumstances.

"Severus informed me of what happened," Madame Pomfrey said curtly. "Are you under the blankets because you're cold now, too?"

"Nugh," Harry replied.

"Good, I suppose." She took his wrist and dropped it in disgust a few moments later. "I can't even take your pulse. Do you think your heart is racing?"

"Owlly baskuse aimee schurged," Harry said testily.

"Yes or no," Madame Pomfrey replied.

"Ngugh."

"Fine. Good. Lie down and relax, you might be here for a while," she said.

Anger burst out again. "Raulesk?" he snapped. "Shaunpe hade meugh breshnig bouldly rexaled poinshunt, ayed—"

"That is not relaxing," Madame Pomfrey interrupted. "Or lying down."

Harry glared at her as he shuffled further under the blankets. He could be dying, stuck babbling forever, shivering nonstop, and he was being told to relax after getting into this state from brewing a _calming draught_. Did no one find that ironic? Ironic and miserable?

"Roun?" he asked. "Hearshimone?"

"Potter, stop—"

"I think he wants Weasley and Granger," Snape interrupted. "Harry?"

Harry sighed in relief. "Yeaughh."

"I will summon them," Snape said. "Poppy, will you—"

"Both of you, stop talking!" she said firmly. "There's a lot to do and your constant babbling won't get it done any faster! Potter, your friends are allowed only if they remain silent, do you understand?"

"Yughsh."

"Good. Severus, leave. Potter, prepare to be tested."

Harry didn't like the sound of that.

**22**

Ron and Hermione sat with him for hours. They stayed quiet while Madame Pomfrey tested him, which involved a lot of wand waving and muttered incantations and several uncomfortable pokes and prods. She left without saying anything one way or the other, and that didn't help Harry feel any better.

"What happened?" Hermione asked as soon as she was out of earshot. "Snape said there was a potions accident but not what, and I've been so worried, both of us, and nobody will tell us anything."

"Aigh canughth heeph," Harry replied. Ron's expression grew very strange, and it was easy enough to see that he was trying not to laugh. "Ith nouthaght fushneigh," Harry muttered.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed worriedly, taking his hand. "Ohh, you can't stop shaking either, can you?" He shook his head miserably. "We'll stay, don't worry. As long as you're here, we'll stay. We can bring you homework—oh, wait, no, you can't write. And you can't dictate either, oh, this isn't good."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Aigh nouth warghed aiboot hougwark."

"Harry's right, assuming he said he shouldn't have to deal with homework now," Ron replied, and Harry nodded emphatically. "Yeah, there are things more important than marks, 'Mione."

She glared at him. "I know that, I was just trying to be helpful. I thought it might be a good distraction."

"Homework is never a good distraction," Ron said. "It's never good, period. Leave Harry alone."

"I'm not going to leave him alone," Hermione replied angrily. "I'm going to sit with him, because that's what friends do, and I'm going to try to help. Harry knows I talk about homework when I'm worried—"

"Or any other time," Ron interrupted.

"—and that you get even more annoying than usual," she continued icily. "He still asked for us."

"Yim raight hersh," Harry muttered.

They turned back to him.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, looking ashamed. "Do you want me to stay? I promise I'll stop talking about homework."

Harry smiled slightly. "Yegsh."

She squeezed his hand. "We'll get through this. You'll be fine."

"And if not, you can work for George in the joke shop," Ron offered. "You'll fit right in."

Hermione smacked his arm, but Harry laughed. That was the only thing that cheered him up all night. Well, except maybe for how caring and—was sweet the word?—Snape had been. That had been good. But this was less pathetic and more practically helpful, plus it didn't come from the person who landed him in the infirmary in the first place.

"I brought you a quill and parchment," Hermione said, pulling them out of her bag. "I know your writing will be shaky, but it'd be worth it if you could communicate. The quill is self-inking, I didn't think Madame Pomfrey would like an inkwell."

Harry could have kissed her. "Yarg brislignat," he said, taking the writing materials.

It immediately became apparent it wasn't going to help. He could hardly hold the quill, let alone form letters. He filled half the parchment with incomprehensible squiggles and inkblots before getting too frustrated to continue. He balled the parchment and threw it across the room along with the quill.

"Houpleese," Harry groaned. "Ig neaveer beay blable toag eeb nudsteade aigeen."

"It's not hopeless," Hermione said soothingly. "You did say it was hopeless, right? Though even if you didn't, it still isn't."

"You're talking very quickly," Ron told her. "Seems kind of insensitive, given Harry's condition."

Harry smiled slightly, more at Hermione's expression than Ron's words. She was simultaneously upset at Ron telling her what to do again and feeling guilty about what he said.

Madame Pomfrey came over with a small glass filled with a viscous orange liquid. "Drink this," she said, starting to hand it to Harry and then pulling back at the sight of his shivering hands. "Hold still as best you can," she amended. "And open your mouth."

Feeling entirely humiliated, Harry tipped his head back and opened his mouth. She poured the potion down his throat, and he immediately started coughing. His throat was already raw and sore from so much coughing earlier, and he was relatively sure it caught fire this time.

"Breathe, Potter," Madame Pomfrey said.

"Mig threegin," he coughed. "Shlith nacth lact."

She pursed her lips. "Clearly not helpful," she replied. "And stop talking."

"Do you think talking might make it worse?" Hermione asked nervously.

"I don't know what might make it worse," Madame Pomfrey snapped. "Everyone at this school thinks they're so clever. Professors testing potions on students, threatening a poisoning if I told the headmistress. What does he think is going to happen when you don't show up at breakfast tomorrow, hmm?"

Hermione's jaw dropped. "Snape _tested potions_ on you?"

"Uhh vargninant," Harry replied.

"Stop talking!" Madame Pomfrey said firmly. "I'm not at liberty to discuss such things. Wipe that look off your face, Granger. Minerva has already been informed, regardless of any threats. Professors don't scare me, no matter how intimidating they like to think they are. Another half hour, and then you need to go so Potter can get some sleep."

"Swible ayme shnalkeen licken thrisle?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Stop talking."

As promised, Madame Pomfrey kicked Ron and Hermione out a half hour later. Harry tried to tell her again that he couldn't sleep while he was shaking so hard, but it fell on deaf, confused and firm ears. She extinguished the lights in the infirmary and left, once again telling him to stop talking.

It took a very long time for Harry to fall asleep. The shaking combined with the fear was enough to keep him up for days, and eventually he had to close his eyes and will himself out of the infirmary. He wasn't stuck in the hospital wing with a potentially incurable accidental poisoning, he was just cold because the castle was drafty. He wasn't thinking about talking, he was thinking about white cuffs. Simultaneously excruciatingly inappropriate tonight of all nights and the only thing that was distracting enough to let him fall asleep.

So, like so many other nights, Harry fell asleep thinking about white cuffs.

**23**

When Harry woke up it took him a minute to remember where he was and why he was in the infirmary. Then he registered the shaking and it all came rushing back. He groaned, pulling the blanket over his head.

"Awake, then?"

Harry jerked in surprise, rolling over and pushing the blanket down. Snape was sitting in a chair next to him, looking an awful lot like he was calmly reading. The worry and embarrassment and guilt were barely visible at all.

"Whash ree doughig sheere?" Harry said. Before Snape could answer, Harry started crying. Thankfully not full on sobs, but still obviously crying. He supposed it had been coming, but waking up the next day still talking nonsense was too much. Harry buried his face in his pillow, refusing to look at the man who caused his tears.

"Harry, I—"

"Out," Madame Pomfrey said quite suddenly. "I didn't want to let you in at all, and this is too much. Leave."

It was pathetic that Harry knew the sound of Snape's robes swishing so well. Even if the entire hospital wing had been full, he would have been able to pick out the sound of him leaving.

"No better, then?" she asked.

"Nugh."

"I have a few ideas, don't worry," she said. "You'll be running your mouth again in no time."

"Ughkee," Harry sniffled.

"Stop talking," Madame Pomfrey said. "I'll be back soon."

Harry lay on his back, stared at the ceiling and shook. All he could think about was Snape. Usually he had at least something else going on, but not now. Everything was mixed up in reasonable hatred and stupid love and all he wanted was for things to be easy and simple and that was never, ever going to happen. Not with Snape, and probably not with anything, because he was Harry Potter and the universe had decided he didn't get easy and simple.

"Potter."

Speak of the devil. Harry turned to glare at Malfoy, who was standing at the foot of his bed. He kept his mouth shut; the last thing he needed was for Draco Malfoy to hear him like this.

"The whole school knows what happened," he said. "Well, sort of. The general consensus is that Severus poisoned you. I don't suppose I could convince you to tell them otherwise?"

Harry intensified his glare. He couldn't tell anyone anything, let alone speak up on behalf of Snape.

Which, because he was stupid and pathetic, he probably would have done.

"Right, you can't talk," Malfoy said. "When you're better, then. It took ages to get him to tell me what actually happened. I had to bother him all through breakfast and then follow him around until he gave up. He didn't mean it, you know. He was sure that it was safe. Apparently there have never been any known side effects of elder flowers. He thought it would create a more powerful Calming Draught, not—whatever it did to you."

Harry was very interested as to why Malfoy had a need to continually remind him that Snape wasn't evil or bad or whatever he was trying to get across, but it wasn't like he could ask.

"Did he visit you?" Malfoy asked. "I told him to."

Harry nodded the tiniest bit.

"What did he say?" Malfoy huffed in frustration. "Never mind, you can't talk. It's really hard to remember, you know. Normally you won't shut up, it's hard to get used to the change." He smirked, and Harry realized this was the first time he'd seen Malfoy's trademark smirk this year. "It's rather pleasant. Anyway, don't blame Severus. He really didn't know."

Harry waved his hands in what was not exactly an understandable gesture, mostly because he didn't know what he was trying to say.

"Flap all you want, I have no idea what you're trying to say," Malfoy replied. "Don't tell Severus I was here, okay? He's less than thrilled with what he's convinced is meddling, and he's been difficult enough lately without being actively mad at me."

Harry had several questions. Why was Snape being extra difficult lately? Why was Malfoy meddling? What was Malfoy trying to accomplish? What was _Snape_ trying to accomplish?

Malfoy didn't elaborate, but he also didn't leave. Instead he stood at the end of Harry's bed, arms crossed, worrying his lower lip.

"Anyway," he said eventually. "Good luck with—ah—not dying, I suppose."

Then he left, and Harry went back to staring at the ceiling. At least now he had something productive to think about, assuming he could call overanalyzing and dissecting Malfoy's every word productive. Harry decided he could; he certainly had in the past, and even if he wasn't trying to save the world this time, figuring out what was going on with Snape was noble enough.

Or horrifically selfish and pathetic, one or the other.

**24**

Harry wasn't sure how much time had passed before his stomach started growling. He had missed breakfast, and when he craned his neck to see the clock at the other end of the infirmary he saw that it was nearly noon. For the first time he wondered when he'd woken up this morning.

"Moadgam Poufee?" Harry called. He closed his eyes, wondering if this was what hell was like.

She appeared at his side a moment later. "I told you not to talk," she said firmly.

He looked beseechingly at her. "Lounsh?" he asked. "Aigh hougee."

She frowned. "Lunch?" Harry nodded in relief. "I'll have something sent up." She eyed his still shaking hands and chattering teeth. "Something easy. Maybe a plate of sandwiches."

"Thaucks." He was close to tears again and had to turn away. He'd forgotten about his shaking.

"I do have some good news for you," Madame Pomfrey said, and he turned back to her. "Minerva has cancelled the rest of your detentions and returned half the points Severus took to Gryffindor."

Of course she had no way of knowing that only made Harry feel worse. The points bit, that was good, but detention was the only time he had with Snape, and he thought things might finally have been sort of starting to move in a vaguely positive direction, maybe. He forced a smile. "Geert."

"Stop talking," she repeated. "I'll have something for you to take with your meal. Now be quiet and rest."

Harry was getting rather sick of people telling him that. What else was he supposed to do, really? Go wandering around the castle on legs that couldn't support him, spouting nonsense? He settled back into his cot, this time rolling over onto his side and staring at the far wall.

It wasn't much more interesting than the ceiling.

A few minutes later Ron and Hermione came in carrying a tray loaded with macaroni and cheese, and a large travel mug filled with pumpkin juice.

"I know it's kind of a kid's meal," Hermione said, setting the tray down on the bedside table. "But we figured you can't choke on pasta, and the travel cup will help you from spilling."

"Thaucks," Harry said, leaning over the plate and fighting with his hand and the spoon and the noodles. "Meeg shtroved."

"I've got questions," Ron announced. "I know you can't give proper answers, but will yes or no work?" Harry nodded. "Malfoy and Snape were talking about you at breakfast. Rather, Malfoy was, and Snape ignored him, but my point is that I couldn't hear what he was saying. Any idea?"

Harry nodded again. He set his spoon down, sending it clattering to the floor. Hermione picked it up and spelled it clean. "Maglough heerg," Harry said, pointing at his bed.

Ron frowned in confusion. "Malfoy was here?" Harry nodded again. "What'd he say to you?" Harry glared at him. "Right. Uh, was he at least nice to you?"

Harry thought back to their conversation. "Yegsh," he said, confused himself now that he thought about it.

"Did he mention Snape?" Hermione asked.

"Mmhug," Harry replied. "Auh, yegsh."

"What'd he say about him?" Ron asked, then let out a surprised yelp as Hermione hit him. "I'm sorry! I'm used to you being able to talk!"

Harry laughed. "Shagt's wheigth Magflow sheed."

"Was Snape here?" Hermione asked, taking over. "Did he apologize?"

"Yeeyh," Harry said. "Nugh."

Her eyes blazed. "He was here and he didn't bother to apologize?"

"I kicked him out," Madame Pomfrey said, appearing by Harry's bed. "He was upsetting the infirm. Potter, drink this."

This flask had a lid as well, and Harry managed to drink the liquid without spilling any. All three were looking at him expectantly, and he had no idea what to attempt to say. "Um," he tried, and was elated that the word came out right, however small it was. "Eim tring tak?" he said.

"Harry, that's loads better!" Hermione exclaimed. "You said you're trying to talk, right?"

"Granger, hush," Madame Pomfrey said, waving her hand. "Potter, can you say your name?"

Harry concentrated. "Heery Pooter." He flushed, burying his face in his hands. While this might be encouraging, he sounded like a drunken Swede.

"Good," Madame Pomfrey replied, sounding like she meant it, and that was definitely a good sign. "Keep talking."

"Uh, Meelfloy seed Snepe thout thee pushun wes deefineetly seef," Harry said. Ron was slowly turning red, presumably from trying not to laugh. Even Harry had to admit he sounded a little silly, as humiliating as it was. "Eelder floores hefe no knoon sede iffeects." Now Hermione was also biting back a smile, and Harry forged ahead. "I theenk hee wes inspeered bee hees oold bouk und weented to tree sometheeng noo."

Ron burst into laughter, and Hermione started giggling. Harry was sporting a ridiculous smile; as long as he wasn't saying his own name, this was definitely an improvement.

"Teenagers," Madame Pomfrey muttered under her breath. "How's the shaking?"

Harry held up a hand. He was still tingling, but the trembling had dulled to small shivers. "Beeter."

"Good," she replied. "Finish your lunch, I'll be back to check on you when you're done eating."

Harry moved the bowl of macaroni onto his lap and started eating properly. Yes, it was messier than he usually was, but at least he wasn't sending bits of noodle flying around the room anymore.

"So what did Malfoy say?" Ron asked, getting himself under control. "And Snape?"

"Snepe leeft beffure he coold seey unytheeng," Harry replied. "Und Melffuy epulugeezed oon Snepe's beheelf."

"I hope you told him that Snape needs to apologize himself," Hermione huffed.

"I deedn't teel heem unytheeng becoose I wes incumprehenseeble," Harry said. "Snepe wes heer whee I wuke oop, thuoogh. I theenk he wes seeting weet me." He suddenly had a revelation and nearly spilled his pumpkin juice. "Deed I teel yoo I teeld heem I set weet heem oveer the soumeer? Mebee he wes repeyeeng thee fefur. Wuoold thet be guud oor beed? I gooes it wuooldn't be unything. He prubebly joost felt oobleegeted."

"Wait, Harry, slow down," Hermione said, eyes growing wide. "Did you just say you visited Snape over the summer?"

Harry froze. He forgot Ron and Hermione didn't know about that. "Um. Yes."

Ron was staring at him like he'd gone crazy. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Becoose oof thet luk!" Harry accused. "Yoo wuooldn't undeerstund. Eef I hedn't guttee droonk thet neeght, yoo wuooldn't knoo uny oof these."

"Harry," Hermione groaned. "Oh, Harry, Merlin. You _told Snape_?"

"He seed it meent nutheeng," Harry replied. "Boot he deed seet veet me, et leest fuur a beet. Ife gut nu idee hoo lung, beet steel."

"Maybe he just felt guilty," Ron suggested. Harry glared at him. "Or, I mean, maybe he cares about you? Is that right?"

"No, stop," Hermione said firmly. "Please, both of you. Harry, don't get your hopes up. Please."

"He ceeled me Heery, a lut. He heeld me, surt oof," Harry countered. Feeling suddenly triumphant, he pointed at Hermione to emphasize his point. "He tuooched my fureheed! Repeetedly! He wes celmeeng me doon! Und dun't teel me it's joost becoose he's a pruffessur, becoose pruffessurs dun't struke my bluudy fureheed!"

Ron started laughing again. "I'm sorry, you just sound so ridiculous when you yell like that."

Hermione frowned again. "He stroked your forehead?"

"Yes," Harry said confidently.

"Hmm."

"Hmm indeed," Harry repeated in English. Real, actual English. He was very proud of himself, even if it was only one word.

"That is strange," Hermione admitted. "But really, don't get your hopes up." Her expression went back to fury. "No matter how nice he was to you, he still deserves to be punished. Professor McGonagall didn't say anything about it, but he better be severely—"

"He is," Harry interrupted, and that was also English. "I'm oot ooff thee rest ooff my detenshoons, und she gefe Gryffeendur helff thee pueents beck thet he tuuk. I dun't knoo whet ilse, boot theer's theet." Okay, maybe not so much. But still, he thought he was making progress.

"That's helping you, not punishing him," Hermione said angrily.

"I'll be soore tu esk ebuoot hees persunel leeffe, isepceelly theengs thet'll hoomeeliete heem," Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

"Guys," Ron said quietly.

"You should!" Hermione exclaimed. "What Snape did was entirely inexcusable! He owes you an explanation!"

"'Mione…"

"Nut ebuoot whet McGunegell is dueeng tu heem!" Harry replied, talking over Ron. "He gefe me un ixpluneshun ebuoot thee pushun, thet's inuoogh."

"He's humiliated you enough by now," Hermione said. "You deserve a crack at him."

"Guys, really, shut up," Ron said quietly.

"Thet wes my ded, nut me," Harry snapped.

"Potter, there is no need for you to defend yourself," a familiar voice cut in. "Granger is right, as loathe as I am to admit it."

Harry and Hermione whirled around to see Snape standing a few feet away from the end of Harry's bed. Ron was looking at his knees, bright red. Hermione was clearly battling with herself, torn between respecting professors and defending Harry. Harry was just embarrassed.

"Pruffessur, I—"

Snape held up his hand. "May I have a moment alone with Potter?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look.

"We'll be just outside," Hermione said. "Give us a call if…" She trailed off, unable to voice her concerns in front of her professor.

"I weell," Harry replied. "Boot it'll be feene. Dun't wurry."

His friends left, and Snape sat beside his bed, where he'd been when Harry had woken up. He didn't say anything, and Harry decided if anything was going to be said, he needed to start.

"Melffuy wes here. He told me yuoo deedn't meun tu pueesun me," Harry said. "It wes yuoor oold book, reeght? Yuoo wunted tu infent egeen?"

"You sound improved," Snape replied, sidestepping the question entirely. "A natural healing progression, or did Madame Pomfrey give you something?"

"She gefe me a pushun," Harry replied. "If yuoo were testeeng oot a noo theeury, thet's—it's, well—" He searched for a word that wouldn't sound too pathetic. "I'm soorpreesed yuoo troost me tu broo it. Thunk yuu."

"Your shaking has subsided as well," Snape continued. "I imagine you'll make a full recovery."

Harry glared at him. "Ere yuoo leestening et ell? Geffen whet happened, I theenk yuoo oove me a reel cunferseshun."

Snape sighed, pinching the brow of his nose. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"Wes it thee book?"

"Yes."

"Melffuy stupped by. He seed ilder floores ere seffe, und yuoo hed nu wey ooff knooeeng they'd interect bedly."

Snape winced. "Meddling brat," he said under his breath. "But he's right."

"Und yuoo troosted me tu broo a noo pushun?"

Snape's lips thinned. "You are not entirely incompetent," he said begrudgingly. "I thought you could manage a simple Calming Draught."

"Thuooght?" Harry demanded. "I fulloowed yuoor durecshuns perfectly! I knoo ilder flooers deedn't belung, boot yuoo told me tu fulloo them ixectly!"

"Tell me what happened," Snape said, once again ignoring the issue. "I couldn't understand you last night, and it might help find a cure."

"The flooers gefe ooff a yelloo vepur thet mede it herd tu theenk," Harry replied. "It gut a lut wurse reelly fest when I edded thee peppermeent. I cuooldn't breethe. Und theen I wuke up oon the fluur, chukeeng on the bezuer."

Snape's eyebrows shot up. "A vapor?" he echoed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I deed!" Harry exclaimed. "Repeetedly!"

Snape took out his wand, and Harry was getting really sick of him constantly ignoring him. He rested the tip on Harry's throat and said, "_Nox Vapos_."

Harry stopped shivering. The tingles went away. His tongue felt very strange for a moment before going back to normal. "What was that?" Harry asked. His eyes widened and he clapped his hands over his mouth. "I can talk! What did you do?"

"A simple reversing spell," Snape replied. "How do you feel now?"

"Fine," Harry said, hands dropping. "Completely fine."

Madame Pomfrey appeared out of nowhere. "What did you do?" she demanded. "You're not supposed to be in here at all, let alone performing spells!"

"But he cured me!" Harry said vehemently. "You should be thanking him!"

Both Madame Pomfrey and Snape stared at him.

"You should not be defending him," she said sternly. "And Severus, I'm passing this along to the headmistress as well."

"No!" Harry exclaimed. "He cured me! Leave him alone!"

Again, stares and silence.

"Potter, it's not necessary—"

Harry knew he was close to the line of what was considered normal, had already probably crossed it, but, well, it was Snape, and he couldn't help it. He'd brushed Harry's forehead. Repeatedly. And now Harry didn't sound like a crazy old Swede who'd lost his dentures. "Please, it's fine," he said. "I'm not upset anymore. And I'm out of detention, that's good enough for me."

Madame Pomfrey shook her head in confusion. "You can leave when you finish your lunch," she said. "Come back immediately if your symptoms return."

"I will."

She walked away, still shaking her head.

Harry turned back to Snape, trying to keep from blushing or betraying any sort of anything. "Did you get into a lot of trouble?" Harry asked. "I can talk to McGonagall if you'd like."

Snape looked at him like he'd gone crazy. "I do not need you arguing on my behalf," he replied. "Nor do I understand why you're so eager to do such a thing. Or anything you've done lately, for that matter; from the essay to the confrontations to staring at my hand—cuff, excuse me."

Harry's eyes drifted down to said cuff under the guise of no longer making eye contact. "Are you asking for an explanation?" he asked.

"No," Snape replied. "I am just stating my confusion."

"Er, right," Harry said. He had a few bites of lunch. "So no more detention."

"I would think you would be happy," Snape said. "You sound dejected."

Bloody hell, he had macaroni in his mouth. How could Snape possibly understand his tone of voice? "No, it's good. I was, er, being nice."

"By pretending to be upset about being excused from detention?" Snape asked.

Merlin. This was not going well. "Malfoy, um, he—he said things," Harry muttered, trailing off.

Snape's eyes blazed, and Harry had to look away again. He found himself looking at Snape's cuff again. "What, exactly, did he say?"

"Just that it's not your fault," Harry replied. "I should tell people you didn't poison me. Um, to be nice to you, again."

Snape visibly relaxed, and that was very interesting. Clearly he was relieved that Malfoy hadn't let something slip, and Harry would really like to know what that something was. "I will have a word with him," Snape said dryly. "Yet again. His sudden change in behavior is entirely inappropriate."

"More confusing than inappropriate," Harry mused, toeing that line again. "Any idea why the sudden change?"

Snape stood up. "Finish your lunch," he said. "I do not wish to be the cause of your confinement to the infirmary."

"Wait," Harry said quickly. "You were here when I woke up. How long had you been waiting?"

"No doubt less time than you spent by my bed," Snape replied and left, robes swishing around him.

As soon as he was gone Ron and Hermione hurried in, Ron rolling up what looked suspiciously like an Extendable Ear.

"What was that about?" Ron asked.

"I take back everything I said," Hermione added. "You were right, Harry. He is acting strangely. Not enough to think he returns your feelings, but definitely strangely enough to consider his motives."

"And I thought I was the suspicious one," Harry replied. "I never said he liked me, for the record. All I said is that he's been strange. So has Malfoy. But I don't think they're doing anything sinister, and I'm pretty sure if I don't think that, it's not happening. It's probably Snape refusing to admit he has any feelings whatsoever. Not romantic feelings, any feelings other than hatred. He tolerates me, maybe, that's all."

"And trusts you enough to brew experimental potions," Ron added.

"Harry, I'm very proud of you," Hermione said, ignoring Ron's comments. "You're thinking realistically."

"Well I think it's obvious he cares about me a little bit," Harry replied.

"I'm comfortable with that," Hermione said. "I don't think you should push it, though."

"On the other hand, you could always get him to accidentally poison you again," Ron suggested. "That seemed to work in your favor."

"I'm done with detention," Harry reminded him. "I'm never going to see him outside of class again."

"And even if you did, you wouldn't let him poison you!" Hermione exclaimed. "Really, Harry!"

"That, too," Harry replied with a smile. "Let me finish my lunch so I can get out of here."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Here you are, my lovelies! Chapter six! Enjoy!

**Chapter Six**

**25**

Harry made a rash decision that night.

After dinner he told Ron and Hermione he was going to the Owlery to send a note to the Weasleys so they knew he was okay. Ron said that was probably a good idea; he hadn't written his mum himself, but given how prone to gossip Hogwarts was, it was entirely possible she had heard. To be fair, Harry did go to the Owlery and send a letter to the Weasleys explaining what had happened, but that was only an excuse to ditch Ron and Hermione.

Once the letter was sent he walked down to the second floor, trying to keep his mind clear. If he stopped to think about what he was doing he'd realize how stupid it was, and while that didn't necessarily mean he'd turn around and go back to Gryffindor, it was possible. He didn't think about what he was going to say, either. Instead he thought about white cuffs, because that was what he did.

Harry knocked on the door at exactly seven.

There was a pause before Snape said, "Enter."

Harry slipped into his office, staying close to the door. "I'm not late," he said nervously. "And I knocked."

Snape studied him, and Harry stood his ground as best he could, trying to keep his face as neutral as possible. And trying to keep himself from looking at Snape's cuff, which, after everything else that had happened in the past few weeks, seemed really idiotic.

"The directions and ingredients for a Calming Draught are on the desk," Snape said eventually.

"I don't need directions," Harry replied, going over to the desk, which was indeed already set up, which was very strange. "I spent my summer making them."

"I would feel more comfortable if you had instructions," Snape said.

A book was open before him, free of any and all annotations. Harry pushed it aside and started preparing the ingredients. He would've rather make something more complicated or that he wasn't so familiar with; as it was, his mind was free to drift away. It drifted to Snape, as it always did. Despite Hermione's constant warnings, Harry started going over every single event and every single word, looking for what almost certainly wasn't there.

He shouldn't say almost.

But, well. Almost wasn't quite definite. And there was always a chance.

Er. Maybe not, not with Snape. He'd accepted that.

Still, though. Almost sounded better. Less twisty.

"How much do you want?" Harry asked. "There's enough ingredients for more that I can fit in the cauldron."

"The choice is yours," Snape replied. "The cauldron is extendable."

Was that acknowledging that Harry didn't have to be here? Harry hadn't been expecting that. "Okay," he said amicably. He felt around for the mechanism, enlarged it, and started the actual brewing process. He was having a hard time deciding whether or not he should try to talk and if so, what about. He shouldn't push it, but the only way anything was going to happen, good or bad, was by pushing. He would have brought up Snape's old book if that hadn't ended so catastrophically.

Harry couldn't think of anything. Rather, he could think of a lot of things, but none of them were a good idea. What's Malfoy been going on about? Why haven't you thrown me out? Why did you sit with me this morning, how long were you there for, and do you actually care that I visited you over the summer? Are you still indifferent towards me? I think I'm in love with you, please don't hate me? Those were not acceptable conversation starters, not if he wanted to live.

So he brewed in silence. Making a batch this big was time consuming, and by the time he finished, he had an idea it had been around two hours. He transferred the potion to a large jug, cleaned his station, and brought the finished product to Snape's desk.

"I've finished," Harry said, which was obvious. "How much time is left?"

"There is no time restriction, Potter," Snape replied, not looking up from his book. "You are here of your own volition. You may leave whenever you like."

So they were acknowledging it. Which meant that Snape hadn't minded that he was here. He'd even planned for it. Harry was relatively sure that counted as strange. "Is there anything else you need?" Harry asked.

"There are always potions I need," Snape said. "If you intend on staying until I no longer require anything, you are never going to leave."

Harry thought that sounded okay. "Well, er, if I go back to the Tower I'll have to deal with Ron and Hermione doing—er—couple things that I'm not, um, a part of, and so staying out for a while, that might not be a bad thing." That was an exceedingly awkward sentence, especially not when said to Snape, who raised an eyebrow.

"You believe your discomfort around your friends is greater than my desire for privacy?" he asked.

Harry forced himself not to fidget. "Maybe?"

"You are aware your presence in my office is suspicious enough without brewing as well?" Snape continued. "I am indifferent, but if Minerva was to find out, my life would become drastically unpleasant."

Harry decided that, given how forward he'd been so far, he might as well keep going with it. "I'd be more inclined to stay if you weren't indifferent," he said, averting his eyes. He ended up staring at Snape's cuffs. He had a problem, he was aware. "Ron and Hermione at least like me, even if they won't stop snogging."

"Your continual nagging regarding my disposition towards you is not only irritating but indecipherable," Snape said. "I do not enjoy things I don't understand."

_That makes two of us_, Harry thought. He shrugged. "It's up to you."

Snape was looking at him like he was a particularly difficult, confusing and irritating puzzle. "If you insist," he finally said. He waved his wand, and a host of ingredients flew across the room and onto the table, as well as a piece of parchment with instructions. "Dreamless Sleep."

"Sure," Harry replied, stomach so twisty he thought he might throw up. "Thank you, Professor."

"For doing my work for me?" he asked, then repeated himself. "If you insist."

"Mhm," Harry said. His back was to Snape and he was reading over the instructions, so he allowed himself a bit of a smile.

"And Potter, if you faint yet again, you are banned from my office."

Harry wasn't sure if he was going to laugh or die of embarrassment. "Yes, sir."

A few minutes into preparation there was a knock on the door. Without waiting for an answer the door swung open, and Malfoy walked in. Harry immediately turned back to the huckleberries he was dicing.

"What're you doing here?" Malfoy asked bluntly. "I thought you were out of detention."

"He is," Snape replied smoothly. "What do you want, Draco?"

"Tea," Malfoy answered, and Harry felt his eyes boring into the back of his head. "Maybe brandy, if you're so inclined."

"I have no hot water prepared," Snape said, which was the most ridiculous excuse for not serving tea Harry had ever heard. "And you have been coming here seeking alcohol far too often for my tastes."

"Uh, right," Malfoy said slowly. "Do you want me to put up the kettle?"

"No."

Malfoy made a quiet noise of annoyance. "Fine, I get it. I'll leave."

"Not so fast, Draco," Snape said, and Harry knew that voice well enough. It was his angry voice, his I'm-restraining-myself-because-it's-not-proper-to-yell voice. "You should know well enough by now how little I like to repeat myself."

"Is there another tea incident I'm forgetting?" Malfoy asked innocently.

"Stop meddling in my affairs," Snape replied sharply. "Do not talk to others on my behalf. If something needs to be said, I will say it. Explain why this is the third time I have had to tell you this in the past month."

Harry flushed. Merlin, why was Snape having this conversation now, when he was right here? He pressed the knife down too hard and squirted huckleberry juice all over everything.

"It must have slipped my mind," Malfoy said lightly. "On the off chance I was ignoring your request, perhaps it is because I'm concerned."

"There is nothing to be concerned about," Snape retorted. "As I have told you. What must I do to convince you, and why should I indulge in such a demonstration?"

"Well," Malfoy said slyly. "You could always—"

"Stop," Snape interrupted. "Forget it. I believe you were going to leave?"

"Of course," Malfoy replied. "Enjoy your beverage-free evening, Severus. Potter, good to see you haven't died."

"It is?" Harry blurted out before he could stop himself.

"Of course," Malfoy repeated, faking surprise. "Severus requires your services, as I can see you know. He's getting far too old to be brewing as much as he does."

"Malfoy!" Snape snarled. "Ten points from Slytherin. Get out before you make me take any more points."

"Until next time, then," Malfoy said, and left.

Harry was burning with questions and the twisting was stronger than ever. "Is everything all right?" he asked, not really thinking it through. "Malfoy said concerned, and—"

"I said there was nothing to be concerned about," Snape replied. "Did you not hear?"

"I did," Harry said. "I was just—I don't know. Malfoy's not really the type to be worried about anyone other than himself, so if he admitted it, I'd think there was a reason why? Maybe?" He needed to stop, to shut up, right now.

"Will you never learn, Potter?" Snape asked icily. "My business is not yours. I have spent eight years attempting to drill this into your thick skull, and yet it never seems to penetrate. If you wish to remain in my office, I highly recommend closing your mouth."

Harry wasn't particularly good at closing his mouth, and something had occurred to him. He'd almost died the night before. What if—? "Is it about Nagini's attack?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

"My health is as good as it ever is," Snape said dryly. "Leave me alone and return to your work."

"The Calming Draught I made is perfect," Harry said. "If you need it."

"This is your last warning, Potter," Snape replied. "Stop talking or leave."

Harry stopped talking. It was not easy. Eventually he was involved enough in the potion that his questions moved from inescapably important to the back of his mind. He comforted himself with the fact that things were definitely strange. That had to be enough, at least for now.

The potion was exceptionally finicky, and eventually even the strangeness faded away. He was following handwritten instructions, which was a little nerve wracking, but he had no choice but to trust them. Given yesterday, there was no chance Snape would have made any last minute changes to the directions. The potion was purple from the moment he started brewing, and that was a relief. He hadn't taken Dreamless Sleep in a long time, but it was a striking jewel purple and he remembered it vividly.

It was also a relatively long potion. It needed forty-five minutes of simmering halfway through, and once Harry set the timer and sat down, his eyelids started to droop. He didn't know the time but he had been on his feet for quite some time, and he hadn't slept well last night because of the shaking and the worry. He closed his eyes, just for a second, just to rest them.

A moment later the alarm was going off. Harry jerked to his feet, bumping the table. A drift of minced holly leaves fell floor, rendering them useless. They were next. And needed to be added immediately.

"Bloody hell," Harry said quietly, magically sweeping them up and depositing them back on the table. A quick inspection revealed the pile to be filled with dust and fluff and dirt. Not okay. "Um, Snape?"

"Choose your next words carefully."

"What if I can't use the holly leaves?" Harry asked. "Theoretically, what would happen if I left them out?"

"Instead of the sleep being dreamless, it will induce nightmares," Snape replied. "I would not recommend it."

Harry let out a nervous whine. "Potentially, if I let it simmer for more than forty-five minutes before adding the rest of the ingredients, what then?"

"It would turn to cement, ruining the cauldron," Snape said.

Harry worried his lower lip. "Hypothetically, which of those would you rather?"

"Neither," Snape replied.

"What if maybe the holly leaves had dust in them?" Harry tried. "Would that cause a problem?"

"Obviously."

"Okay, well, if you had to make a really fast decision, what would you pick?"

Snape let out an extraordinarily irritated sigh. "_Evanesco_," he drawled, and the potion disappeared. "Clean the station and get out."

Harry quickly cleaned up. He was on the edge of absolute misery; this was not how tonight was supposed to go. He glanced at Snape's stupid bloody cuff one last time. "Tomorrow at seven?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"Do not be late."

That, um, was not the answer he had been expecting.

"Uh, no, of course not."

**26**

Ron and Hermione were still awake. They were in the common room snogging, and Hermione's shirt was off. The scene squelched any good feelings left from Snape's response.

"Hello," Harry said loudly as he walked through the portrait hole.

His friends both blushed terribly. Hermione slid off Ron's lap and quickly pulled her shirt on while Ron coughed uncomfortably and conspicuously slid a pillow onto his lap.

"We didn't know when you were getting back," Ron said, voice unnaturally high. "You sort of passed the timeline for owling Mum hours ago."

"Yeah, um, I was with Snape," Harry replied, collapsing onto the chair closest to the fireplace. "It was rather, er, strange. Given what I walked in on, you're going to sit and listen and not complain once."

"I'm not going to encourage what shouldn't be encouraged," Hermione replied. "And it's getting awfully late to listen."

"Okay," Harry said lightly. "Then I won't tell you how Snape let me stay in his office for, I dunno, four hours, or when Malfoy showed up and what he said, and definitely not whether or not I was invited back tomorrow."

"You've got my attention," Ron said. "What happened?"

"I'd rather tell you both at once," Harry replied. "It's a long story, I don't want to repeat myself tomorrow, and since Hermione doesn't want to stay…"

She sighed irritably. "Fine. I'm listening."

Harry recounted the story. It took a while, and by the end he knew he should be even more tired, only instead he was practically thrumming with excitement.

"Tell me that's not strange," Harry demanded when he was done.

"Definitely strange," Ron confirmed. "Especially Malfoy. What's he doing?"

"Not a clue," Harry replied. "I'm thinking I need to corner him and weasel it out of him."

"I don't know," Hermione said nervously. "He's not exactly known for being helpful and telling the truth. He might lie just to mess with you."

"Yeah but I can't exactly corner Snape," Harry replied.

"I'm pretty sure you did," she said. "In his office. And, as strange as it is, I think it worked out in your favor."

Harry smiled slightly. "I was thinking that, too. But he still didn't tell me what's going on."

"Does it matter?" Ron asked. "Isn't the point for you to spend time with him in a way you can justify as not being creepy?"

"Well, yes," Harry replied. "But once I did that, which I have, then next would be getting him to talk to me."

"That firmly crosses the encouraging line," Hermione said. "Harry, he's not going to open up to you. You proved that today. Besides, didn't he say again that he's indifferent towards you?"

"Yeah, but," Harry started, trying to figure out what came next. "He didn't act that way. And even if he did, if he was really indifferent, then he wouldn't care about telling me one way or the other."

"You're smarter than that," Hermione said. "Snape is infamously private. It doesn't matter who's trying to talk to him, it's not going to happen. The only person he ever routinely told the truth to was Dumbledore, and, well…"

"Don't do that," Harry snapped. "We're not talking about that."

"Yeah, 'Mione, it's way too late for that," Ron said. "You don't need to prove that Snape doesn't talk, everyone knows that."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, sounding properly chagrined. "You're right. Harry, can't you be happy with what you have and leave the rest alone?"

"Harry's not known for leaving things alone," Ron replied. "That's asking too much."

"Yeah, I think Ron's right," Harry said. "It's—well, I can't—I mean, I've gotten this far."

"But you could lose all of it," Hermione protested. "Snape is very difficult, and what you've done is quite an accomplishment. Please try to realize that."

Harry briefly closed his eyes, and again he found they were suddenly very heavy and it was quite difficult to open them again. "I'm exhausted," he said. "Can we agree it's strange, and then we can stop talking? I'll go to bed and you two can go back to doing whatever you were doing."

"Definitely strange," Ron agreed.

"Snape and Draco have always been strange," Hermione said, nearly exactly echoing Ron's words from a few days ago. "But yes, I suppose this is abnormal even for them."

"Thank you," Harry replied forcefully. "Now goodnight. I'll see you in the morning, preferably fully clothed."

Harry fell asleep thinking about white cuffs. Even after everything that happened, it was still the white cuffs. He was starting to think it would always be white cuffs. White cuffs forever.

**27**

It was Thursday, he'd been on break for six days, but it was only now that Harry realized he didn't know what to do with himself. Last Christmas he'd gone to Godric's Hollow with Hermione, and that was clearly not going to happen again. The Christmas before that had been at the Burrow, and the one before that at Grimmauld Place, with trips to St. Mungo's. Before that he'd spent his holidays at Hogwarts, focused on stopping one plot or another. This year—well, this year was different.

There was a lot of homework to be done but he could only focus on work for so long. Besides, Hermione was well ahead of him like always, but since she and Ron were dating, Ron was bullied into studying more often that usual, so even he was making better progress than Harry. He was left irritable and not inclined to admit he was the only one who had yet to do his Transfiguration essay.

There was the usual, of course. Games of chess and Exploding Snaps. Flying with Ron, though never for very long, not given how cold it was. A few snowball fights, but the number of staff was so much larger than the students who stayed, and each game resulted in a massacre. Harry would've enjoyed those a lot more had Snape been involved, but of course he wasn't.

Unlike other plots, Ron and Hermione were much less inclined to go over Snape and Malfoy's motives over and over again. Not that they hadn't gotten sick of Harry's rants in previous years, but at least those had been about something more concrete and reasonable than whatever was going on now. The only thing all three would agree on was that it wasn't related to dark magic or Voldemort, and that it was strange. Hermione refused to talk about it any further so she wouldn't "encourage" Harry. Ron would go a bit farther than that, but would abruptly change the topic whenever Harry brought up his feelings.

In any case, that Thursday wasn't the most interesting day. He did homework for a while but stopped long before Ron and Hermione, instead flipping through an old Quidditch magazine. After lunch he wandered aimlessly through the castle, mopey, frustrated and severely annoyed at Malfoy, Snape and himself. Mostly himself. If he hadn't followed Ron's advice and turned in that idiotic essay none of this would be happening. Yes, Snape wouldn't be speaking to him and yes, this was sort of better than that, kind of, but his stomach wouldn't be twisty and he wouldn't have such a bad headache and he could just sit back and enjoy his holiday.

"Oi, Potter! Wait up!"

Harry groaned quietly. The last thing he needed right now was another nonsensical run in with Malfoy. He turned around, letting Malfoy catch up so they weren't yelling from opposite ends of the corridor.

"What now?" he sighed.

"About last night," Malfoy said. "Why were you in Snape's office?"

"I was making a Calming Draught," Harry replied defensively.

"I didn't ask what you were doing," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. "I asked why. No more detention, your most hated professor, I'm not seeing the appeal."

"Why should I tell you?" Harry asked. "You've hardly been open and honest with me."

"I have!" Malfoy protested. "I've told you I want you to be nice to him and I want that because he's my godfather, I care about him, and I felt bad for him being stuck with you all holidays."

"Maybe at first," Harry retorted. "But after that? The bit with helping that you refuse to explain? What you were starting to say last night before Snape kicked you out? Tell me those things, and maybe I'll let you know what's going on with me."

Malfoy looked pained. "I can't. Severus is mad at me enough as it is."

"For interfering with his business," Harry said, though it was sort of a question.

"He needs it," Malfoy muttered. "He's so bloody stubborn."

"But you're not going to tell me why," Harry replied. "So I've got no reason to tell you."

"Tell you why Severus is stubborn?" Malfoy asked. "Really?"

"Even you aren't that daft," Harry snapped. "You know what I mean. What he's being stubborn about."

"Why do you care?" Malfoy shot back.

"I told you, I don't hate him," Harry said. "Snape—" He faltered. "He, uh, the Pensieve, I mean. Did a lot of me."

Malfoy gave him a strange look. "Are you always so inarticulate when talking about Severus?"

"Look, either come out and say whatever it is you're trying to say or leave me alone," Harry replied. "And I swear, if it's just 'be nice to Snape' again, I've got that by now, and I'm working on it."

Malfoy sighed. "We both want the same thing, right? For Severus to be happy? Shouldn't we be working together, then, rather than fighting all the time?"

Harry was flabbergasted. "We always fight!" he exclaimed. "We hate each other!"

"So do you and Severus, I thought," Malfoy countered. "But clearly that's not true, otherwise you wouldn't be choosing to spend your time with him and he wouldn't be letting you." Of all the people Harry wanted to acknowledge that particular piece of information, Malfoy was really low on his list. "Bloody hell, he kicked me out last night so he could have time alone with you, and you _let him_."

"Okay, for one thing I was in the middle of a potion, I couldn't just stop," Harry said. "And do you really need me to explain why I don't want to spend time with you?"

"No, but I do need you to explain why you want to spend time with him," Malfoy said.

Harry was done with this conversation. Really, very done. "I'm leaving," he replied, turning around. "Stop follow me and stop cornering me and just—just stop."

"Potter!" Malfoy yelled. "For Merlin's sake, let me help you!"

Harry whirled around. "Help with what?" he shouted. "I'm really fucking sick of you and your plotting and scheming. Either tell me what's going on or get out of my face."

Malfoy looked around, making sure they were alone. Nobody else was in the corridor, but several portraits were looking overly interested, and he then grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him into a small alcove overlooking the grounds. "Listen, it doesn't matter why," he said quietly. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, forget about that. You have no reason to tell me your business, so we'll just pretend there aren't any motives on either side. But you both want to spend time together, and I can make that happen."

Harry was at war with himself. He wanted someone to talk to, wanted someone on his side who encouraged him, but Malfoy? Really? It had to be Malfoy? "If I was going to go along with you," he said slowly. "What would you say?"

"I'd ask you what your plans are," Malfoy replied. "I'd give you pointers. And I'd remind you to be nice to him because—shut up, let me finish—he's not close to many people, and he's already gone way, way out on a limb for you over and over again, and if you're going to try to be his—friend, or whatever—make sure you mean it."

Harry was thrown. "Um, yeah," he stammered. "I know. I mean, I know he doesn't trust anyone, so if I was trying to get his trust, or whatever, I wouldn't take that lightly."

Malfoy nodded and let go of Harry's arm. "You're an arse, but you're a loyal arse, I'll give you that."

"So what're you going to do?" Harry asked after a moment of silence. "Stand there and stare at me until I magically figure out what you're thinking?"

"I'm thinking," Malfoy replied irritably. "How'd you get into his office yesterday? How'd that get started?"

"I just sort of went," Harry said. "At seven, when I was supposed to have detention. Everything was already set up."

"You got there at seven?" Malfoy asked. "I didn't come down until nine thirty. There's no way you were still working on a Calming Draught."

"Um, no, I finished that, and started on Dreamless Sleep," Harry replied.

Malfoy frowned. "Okay, so you went without detention and stayed past when you were supposed to leave for what you didn't have?"

"We're not talking about motive," Harry snapped.

"Fine, but you need to tell me what you said to get Severus to let you stay," Malfoy replied.

Harry flushed slightly. "Er. Ron and Hermione can be. Um. Exclusive, these days. I told him I didn't want to go back yet."

Malfoy smirked. "If that weren't so disgusting it'd be hilarious. What did he say?"

"Leave my friends alone," Harry said automatically, thinking. All of Hermione's insistence that nothing meant anything had apparently worked its way into his head; it wasn't that he'd let anything go, especially not his cuffs, but he did need to work to remember the conversation. "Okay, well, he told me I could leave whenever I want. He said he didn't care one way or another, but he'd be in trouble with McGonagall if she found out. He got, er, annoyed when he thought I was bothering him about his indifference—which I wasn't, he misunderstood—and then he said I could stay if I insisted." He paused. "Okay, he might not have been misunderstanding. But he still let me stay."

Malfoy shook his head. "You two, I swear to Merlin. I assume he didn't say anything after I left, but presumably you did?"

Harry fidgeted. Telling Ron and Hermione about it was pathetic enough, let alone Malfoy. "Er. I asked what was going on. He said it wasn't my business. I asked if it had to do with Nagini; y'know, to make sure he's okay, and he said his health is fine. He told me if I wanted to stay I needed to stop talking, so I did. That's it."

"And he let you stay."

"Yeah."

Malfoy shook his head again, presumably in amazement. "Are you going back tonight with the same plan?"

Harry flushed again entirely against his will. "Um. Already kind of confirmed it. I messed up the Dreamless Sleep and he vanished it and I figured he was angry enough as it was, so I just said 'tomorrow at seven' expecting him to yell at me, only instead he just told me not to be late."

Malfoy stared at him. "Why the hell—okay, fine. Never mind. Why are you telling me all this again? I offered to get you time alone with him, but you've clearly got that under control."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. He hadn't thought of that. "Uh…"

Malfoy smiled slightly. "You need someone to talk to about this as much as he does. Your friends aren't cutting it?"

"No motives," Harry reminded him. "No explanations whatsoever."

"I could come in again, if you want," Malfoy offered. "Conveniently let something slip by accident? Remember, I'm being nice to Severus, not you."

"Don't you dare," Harry said sharply. "I mean, not that there's anything to let slip in the first place, but if you think there is, don't."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "This is bloody ridiculous. Okay, well, I'm not allowed to say anything, so I'm going to give you something to think about: I keep comparing you two. How you're both idiots, and how I want him to be happy, and you to be nice to him. By spending time together." Malfoy stepped out of the alcove and started to walk away. "Just something to think about, Potter."

Harry watched Malfoy leave, then turned to look out the window. That was indeed something to think about. He sat down in the alcove, leaning against the wall and looking out the window. He had a suspicion he might be here for a while.

**28**

"Okay, fine," Hermione burst out suddenly, setting her pumpkin juice down so forcefully it nearly spilled. "Something happened, didn't it?"

"You don't want to hear about it," Harry said lightly. "You've made that perfectly clear. And lower your voice, someone could hear."

She glanced around the table. "No one's anywhere near here," she said, though she was quieter.

"And she didn't want to hear about it, not me," Ron replied in a brief moment where there wasn't food in his mouth. "You're going back to his office after dinner, right? You might as well fill us in now so we're not up all night."

Harry turned to Hermione. "That okay with you? I'm warning you, it involves encouragement."

She rested a hand on her temples. "Fine. But _I'm _not going to encourage you."

"We'll see," Harry replied. "It's—er—surprising."

Speaking quietly and continually looking around to make sure nobody was listening, Harry told them the story of his conversation with Malfoy. Hermione and Ron grew steadily quieter and quieter, eyes growing wider and wider, and even Ron stopped eating.

"I really, really, _really_ don't want to say this, but I think Snape might fancy you," Ron said, looking disgusted. "I mean. That's just."

"No, stop," Hermione said. "That's not necessarily true. I admit he probably doesn't hate you, Harry. But the rest, that could mean anything, including that Draco is just messing with you."

"He doesn't mind spending time with me," Harry stated. "At the very least. That's good enough."

"No it isn't, don't be daft," Ron replied. "You're going to keep pushing because you're Harry Potter and you can't not push."

"I know, but still," Harry said. "That's way better than nothing. I'll be happy."

"No you won't," Hermione replied. "You won't be happy until you're shagging. Not even. You won't be happy until he's declared his love."

"Shut up," Harry hissed, looking around again. Nobody was paying any attention, at least not obviously. But Snape had very sharp ears, even if he was most of the table away. "Even if you're right, this is still better than nothing."

"Nn," Hermione protested anxiously. "I don't want you to get your hopes up, or get even more involved with something that isn't there. If he tossed you out and told you to never see him again now, that'd be really different than if you spend weeks working with him first."

"It's just brewing potions," Harry replied. "It's not like he talks to me or anything. There's nothing to get involved with, don't worry."

"But you think there is!" Hermione exclaimed quietly. "Just—be careful, okay?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Being careful and nice. I'm following everyone's directions, don't worry."

She sighed. "I always worry about you, Harry. You're very easy to worry about."

"Thanks," he muttered.

"Hang on," Ron said slowly. "'Mione, don't dismiss this so quickly. There's definitely something strange going on."

"Strange," Harry echoed emphatically.

"Even if it's only that Snape tolerates you, that's definitely strange," Ron continued. "It seems like it's more, though. Really. I hate to say it, but it does. At least Malfoy thinks there's more, and presumably he's close to Snape. He definitely wouldn't be encouraging you of all people to spend more time with him unless he has a really good reason."

"Like humiliating Harry?" Hermione suggested.

"He's left me alone all year," Harry said. "He only started talking to me when I got detention, and he couldn't have figured anything out from that since I didn't have a choice."

"Still…"

"You're such a worrywart," Ron accused. "Let Harry have his fun."

Hermione glared at Ron. "I'm looking out for him!"

"I'm fine," Harry said. "Really, I'm good."

"What are you doing for Christmas?" Hermione asked.

Harry stared at her. "Um, opening presents with you two, Christmas breakfast, hanging out in the common room, Christmas lunch, probably doing homework because you'll make us, Christmas dinner, maybe brewing with Snape, depending on how things go, then sleep? Why?"

She sighed again. "This is not me encouraging you," she said firmly. "But, if you're going to be seeing him on Christmas, you might want to take that into consideration."

Harry continued to stare in shock. "Are you—Hermione Granger—suggesting I get him a Christmas present?"

"No," she said. "Absolutely not. I'm just suggesting you have a plan."

"Well it's only Thursday," Harry said. "Christmas isn't until Saturday. That's, um, more than no time. Besides, you won't talk to me about plans. I'll ask Malfoy about it later."

"I'd rather you talk to me than him," Hermione replied. "At least I know my own motives."

Harry couldn't deny that. "What do you think, then?"

She frowned lightly. "I don't know. I'll think about it."

"You should get him something from the joke shop," Ron said.

"You always say that," Harry replied.

"Well it's always a good idea," he said.

"For Snape," Harry said. "Pranks for Christmas for Snape."

Ron took a very large bite of dinner, and Harry smiled indulgently.

"Sure, Ron. Whatever you say."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Meep! Sorry for being late! I totally spaced that today is Wednesday. I promise I'll be more prompt on Friday, which I also promise you will enjoy quite a bit… The only caveat is that we're supposed to be getting quite a blizzard, so if the power goes out, I won't be able to publish. Hopefully everything will go fine, but if I'm mysteriously absent, that's why.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Seven**

**29**

Harry had the timing down, and he arrived at Snape's door at exactly seven. He knocked.

"Enter."

Harry smiled a little, then returned his expression to neutrality as he opened the door. "Hey," he said, seeing how casual worked. "Thanks for, y'know, letting me come back."

"Redo the Dreamless Sleep," Snape replied, not looking up from his book. He so rarely did, but at least Harry could tell when he'd gotten through to him. "Do not fall asleep."

"Yup," Harry said, not giving up on the casual yet. Snape hadn't said anything about it, which was a good sign, probably. He started off with mincing the holly leaves and carefully set them aside as far from the edge of the table as possible, just in case. He spent the prep time mulling over the situation, and when he started the actual brewing part, words he didn't mean at all slipped out. "Have you got any plans for Christmas?"

There was a long, long silence.

"I fail to see why it is your concern."

That was fair enough, but once it was out there, he wasn't going to stop, no matter how stupid a decision it was. "Ron and Hermione have, er, plans," Harry said, which was almost certainly true, even if they hadn't told him. "It'd probably be better for all three of us if I wasn't in the Tower for a while."

"The only elsewhere you are aware of in the entire castle is my office?" Snape asked. "I was under the impression you were aware of many of the castle's secrets."

"I don't want to spend the holiday alone," Harry replied. Everything was twisty, so very twisty.

"Much to my great surprise and intense disbelief, I believe you and Draco have been spending time together?" Snape asked, sounding incredibly uncomfortable. "I assume he would not be adverse to company."

Oh good lord, that was not what Harry wanted at all. "We, um, don't get along very well," he said. "There've been a few instances of not outright hatred, but we don't hang out. At all. Ever."

"You consider brewing my obligatory potions 'hanging out'?" Snape asked sardonically.

Harry blushed. A lot. He was very grateful he was facing away from Snape. "Er, no. But. We—you and I, I mean, not me and Malfoy—don't talk, really. Or yell. And that's a step up."

"We do not speak when I can convince you to shut your mouth," Snape replied. "A task I am woefully inadequate at, as evidenced by our current conversation."

"Still," Harry continued. "Not fighting and not watching my friends have sex, most things are better than those."

"I find it very difficult to believe I am your best option," Snape said. "However, if you insist, I will not bar you from my office."

Harry thought that would probably be the best he could get, but he wasn't done pushing, especially since all he was doing at the moment was stirring. "If you don't want me here, I won't come," he said. "Anytime, I mean, but especially on Christmas."

"Your persistence outweighs the effort to remove you," Snape replied.

Twist, twist, twist. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "If you want me to go, really, I'll leave."

Snape sighed heavily. "Potter, stop talking. Pay attention to the potion."

Harry did. That wasn't Snape telling him to go away, but it also wasn't not. He finished with the last of the first round of ingredients and set a timer for forty-five minutes. This was a dangerous period of time because he had nothing to do and hadn't thought to bring a book and couldn't take a nap. All that was left was thinking and analyzing and, Merlin forbid, talking.

He found himself looking at Snape's cuff. It wasn't that it had faded from his thoughts, not at all, but so much else had come up that it was no longer all he had to focus on. Right now, though, the cuffs were right there, and it was easier to think about them than what else was going on. He wondered if all of his shirts were soft or just that one he happened to be wearing that day. Maybe only the cuffs were soft from wear and the other parts of his shirt, the parts that weren't touched as often, were just as starched as Harry thought.

He ran through his memories of the past few days. Snape had touched him more since Monday than he had over the course of the eight years Harry had known him and while all of those (or almost all of them, depending on how hopeful he was feeling) were due to health crises, that didn't make them any less relevant. He tried to remember if he'd felt Snape's cuffs or shirt or, really, anything.

The night he'd fainted. It had been pathetically embarrassing, but he was fairly certain Snape had touched him. Yes, Snape had held his wrist, because he was healing it. His hand had been warm and comforting. Calloused and soft at the same time? He wasn't sure how that worked. Snape had forced chocolate into his hand, too. That had almost certainly resulted in physical contact, but Harry didn't remember. Had there been more contact that night? Snape had put his hand on his shoulder but that hardly counted.

Snape's hand, on his forehead, after the Calming Draught incident. Harry frowned in concentration. He hadn't been at his best, and his mind had been on other things, like trying not to die and remembering how to breathe. That had happened three times, but he didn't remember specifics. Just a lingering feeling of warm, comforting hands. Warm and comforting twice? Not words Harry would have suspected at all, let alone twice. But as far as he knew, Snape's cuff hadn't come into contact with his bare skin. No doubt he'd touched it when Snape had helped him to the infirmary, since he was holding him up, but that was over clothes and also all his brainpower was focused on not falling down the stairs.

Those had all been good, really good, better than the cuff. The cuff had been the first, though, the cuff had started it all. Not Harry's feelings, those had been around for a while, but the need to work things out. It was silly, because that was the only thing that was an accident, but—

Wait. Harry jerked in his chair. Malfoy had done it, no matter how convoluted it had been. Harry had assumed it was an accident because there was no reason Malfoy would have any reason to get Harry and Snape to touch each other. But now? Now Malfoy was being exceedingly strange and suspicious and had almost blatantly come out and said things, only not quite blatantly, which wasn't fair. The point, though, was that maybe it hadn't been an accident.

It didn't matter, though, not really. Snape's cuff was Snape's cuff, Malfoy didn't change that. His cuff had been soft, and that also wasn't because of Malfoy. The fact that Harry had _told_ Snape his cuff was soft was also not related to Malfoy. Harry's obsession with his cuffs was entirely his own fault.

Harry realized he was staring again and quickly looked away.

Snape let out another long sigh. "Don't bother."

Harry glanced at him. "Sorry?"

"I do not understand your fascination with my cuffs, why you care how soft they are, or even how you know what they feel like, but it seems inevitable that you keep a close eye on them," Snape said. "I assume you would not risk my noticing if you could help yourself. It seems your newfound fixation accompanies your presence, and as I have already accepted that, I might as well get used to this as well. You hereby have my—permission, I suppose, to let your eyes rest where you see fit."

Harry stared at him. "Um. I don't—"

"Do not insult my intelligence," Snape interrupted. "That _is_ inexcusable."

"Right." Harry cleared his throat. "It's not—I mean, I just—it surprised me, that's all. I thought they'd be starched and stiff and uncomfortable."

Not only did Snape look up but he closed his book. Harry's stomach twisted. "Tell me, Potter, how did you come by this knowledge?" he asked dangerously.

"Er, bumped into you, in the Great Hall," Harry muttered, trying and failing to look away. "Happened to notice."

"And it is still on your mind?"

Harry winced. "Um, well, sometimes, when I'm bored and waiting and not paying attention to anything else."

"I see," Snape said softly. "You assume because I do not chose to broadcast my personal life and expect nothing short of excellence in my classes my wardrobe is as uptight and rigid as you presume I am?"

That was. That was a loaded question. "You sort of, um, have a reputation," Harry stammered.

"I am well aware," Snape replied. "I am less cognizant of a reputation attached to my clothing."

"It was just an assumption," Harry said quietly. "And a surprise. I'm sorry."

Snape studied him. "I would have thought, given what has transpired between us in the past six months, you might be interested in information beyond the texture of my cuffs."

Harry had to bite back a whimper of embarrassment. "You're not exactly forthcoming," he replied. "I tried, I think. Anyway, it really doesn't matter. I didn't mean to stare and I promise I'll stop, and I won't ask you about your memories or—" He cut himself off. Merlin, he'd almost said something about his hands. That would have been suicidal. "Or anything else that's private," he finished. "Or personal."

"Do not bother," Snape repeated, finally opening his book again. "As I said, it is clear you cannot help where your gaze wanders."

"Unless you were offering to talk," Harry rushed because clearly he had no regard for life. "About the Pensieve, I mean. Being a spy. What my dad did to you."

"I offered no such thing," Snape said coolly. "Nor have you asked. Your outbursts last week regarded how I treat you, and nothing more. You may have mentioned your father in passing, but you questioned nothing beyond my motives."

Harry was staring again, and not at his cuffs. "Are you saying if I asked you'd tell me?"

"That would depend on the question, Potter," Snape replied, sounding bored. How was it that this couldn't capture his attention when talking about his bloody cuffs had?

Harry thought very hard about what he wanted to say, then gave up and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "I'm not mad at you," he said. "I know I told you that, sort of, that I don't hate you anymore, and I think I complimented you. I really don't hate you. I understand what you did, and you're brave and noble, even if you refuse to let anyone see it. For what it's worth, I'm sorry I was such an arse. I know you couldn't tell me why you treated me the way you did, but if I'd known… Well, it would've been different, and I'm sorry. Everything I blamed you for, I'm sorry for that, too."

Harry waited with bated breath for an answer. It was a long time before one came.

"I heard no question."

Harry winced. Why did Snape have to be so difficult? He was out on a limb, way, way out, and Snape refused to acknowledge it. "Do you forgive me?"

Snape looked up, and his expression was very difficult to understand. "You ask for my forgiveness?" he said. "After everything that happened, you believe you owe me an apology?"

Harry chewed on the inside of his check. "Um. Sort of. I guess more, er, I want you to know that I understand, and I am sorry." He sighed, very frustrated he couldn't make his words come out right. "I said that already. I mean, um. Thank you, for what you did." Another small puff of air. "I don't know, forget it."

"You have every reason to hate me," Snape replied. "I find your endless tolerance boring and useless; when you extend such absolution to everyone you come across it weakens the act, as well as implying you believe you are the highest source of judgment in our world."

Harry's eyes blazed. "I don't," he said sharply. "I don't forgive Voldemort and I don't forgive Bellatrix for killing Sirius or torturing Neville's parents. I don't forgive the countless Death Eaters who tormented and killed whoever they came across. I don't forgive Dumbledore, either, for not telling me sooner what I had to do. I still love him and miss him every day, but he owed me that much. I don't forgive Malfoy, though we're on speaking terms, at least sort of. I'll never forgive my aunt and uncle for treating me the way they did. Do you need me to go on? I've got more. And what the rest of the world thinks about me is bollocks; who I hold responsible for what is my business, not anyone else's. My opinions have nothing to do with the Wizengamont."

"You have proven your point," Snape replied coolly. He glanced over Harry's shoulder. "Your timer is almost up. Do not bump the table."

Harry looked at the numbers floating above his cauldron. Nineteen seconds left. "Well?" he asked. "Are we—things, I mean, are they—good, or okay, or whatever?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "You need to work on your articulation, Potter."

"Answer me," Harry demanded. "You've ignored me all year until I literally yelled in your face, and even then you didn't say anything, not really. Don't you dare tell me you're indifferent, not after everything we've been through. Either you still hate me, whether for myself or my father, doesn't matter, or you've forgiven me, too, for how I treated you and you accept my apology. I don't think you'll ever actively like me, but it doesn't have to be hatred, and it can't be indifference."

Harry had never seen Snape's eyes look so intense. "There is a great deal about you I hate, Potter," he replied, and Harry was relatively sure his stomach had finally given in and let itself get so twisted that it knotted helplessly and would never work again. "But—"

The timer went off. Harry turned away furiously, going back to his potion and continuing as if it had done him a personal wrong. But what? But I don't hate you? But I admire you? But I like you? But you're important to me? But I'm in love with you? Probably not the last ones, but—but _what_? What could possibly follow that statement that would include a but?

"Stop stirring so violently," Snape said. "I can hear the potion sloshing from over here."

Harry forced his hands to calm down. The holly leaves went in without any incident, and he relaxed a little. The rest was just adding and stirring. Which meant he could talk.

"But what?"

"Focus, Potter," Snape replied. "Do not make me vanish your potion two days in a row."

"I am focusing," Harry said. "I'm adding the chopped Mandrake right now, and stirring five times counterclockwise. But what?"

"Stop talking and count your stirs," Snape replied. "If you lose track—"

"Something bad will happen, I know," Harry interrupted. "But what?"

"You are proving my point exactly," Snape said testily. "You expect me to absolve you of your past when you continue to act like an insubordinate brat?"

"I expect you to talk to me," Harry countered. "Considering everything. You loved my mum and hated my dad because he was a total arse. You dedicated your life to protecting me because of my mum and Dumbledore. You were a spy for twenty years, putting yourself in more danger than I ever did. You risked everything so I could have a chance to kill Voldemort. Yeah, I expect something from you. I don't know what, I don't really care what, but I want to know." He ignored the bit about not caring in favor of the greater speech.

"It all comes back to the same thing," Snape replied. "Your need to be seen as a hero, as the savior of the wizarding world. I am the only one who remains levelheaded regarding your status, and you hate it. What if indifference is all I can muster? What would you do then, Potter?"

"I'm not a bloody hero!" Harry yelled, throwing in the last Mandrake root harder than he needed to. "I'm so sick of people telling me that! I did what I had to do, that's all. It's dumb luck I survived at all, let alone killed Voldemort. Whatever else you think about me, however else you compare me to my dad, I'm not an egotistical git like he was. I'm not him, and I'm not what the papers say I am."

"Then why do you need my approval?" Snape responded. "What is so important about me?"

Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from replying truthfully. He bought himself time to think of an excuse under the guise of checking the directions—which turned out to be a good thing, he'd reversed the order of the next two ingredients—but eventually he had to answer. "I respect you," he said, and that was true. "If you need to hear why again, I'll run down the list, but that's what it boils down to. I respect you and I care about what you think."

"There is a great deal I hate about you," Snape repeated. "But there is much to admire as well, as loathe as I am to admit it. You are correct in believing indifference is not possible, but unless you want a lie, you will have to settle for ambivalence"

Harry didn't know what he had been hoping for, but it wasn't that. Realistically, ambivalence was good, was a lot better than it could have been, but that didn't make his stomach any less twisty. How could a knot twist anyway? Once again, he was the Boy Who Defied Physics. Brilliant.

"I'll leave you alone, then," he said, trying to disguise any petulance. "Once I'm done with this I won't bother you anymore. I don't know why you refuse it say it out loud, but it's obvious enough you don't want me around. I'm almost done, just the salamander eggs, and then you can go back to ignoring me, or harassing me, whatever."

"For Merlin's sake," Snape sighed irritably. "I am fully capable of articulating myself and if I didn't want you here, rest assured you would know. I don't pretend to know why you choose my company, but having you in the corner doesn't bother me. It appears ordering you silent is as futile as thinking you have something more interesting to think about than the quality of my clothing, but I want to hear nothing more regarding my memories, including your parents and Voldemort, or your compulsion to secure my favor. Do you understand?"

The number of contractions combined with admitting he wanted Harry here was almost enough to calm his stomach. Not exactly, but close. "Yeah, I understand."

A book flew over to the table, grazing Harry's elbow before settling down. _Guide to Advanced Occlumency_. He froze, every muscle tensing, all relaxation gone. Were they going back to that? Was Snape going to be prying into his mind? Would he see how Harry felt? Merlin, Merlin, Merlin, he was so bloody screwed.

"Read the first three chapters by tomorrow," Snape said. "If you are to be here, you may as well be doing something useful."

"Brewing—" Harry's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "Brewing potions isn't useful?"

"There is no reason not to do both," Snape replied. "Most of what I need completed is exceedingly simple and requires virtually no time. You have expressed a great desire to avoid your Tower and settle yourself in my office. You may not be in detention, but as long as you are here, you are under my direction."

"But Voldemort's gone," Harry protested. "I don't need Occlumency anymore."

"There are always wizards looking to get into your head, Potter," Snape said. "It would serve you well to learn how to keep them out." He muttered something under his breath so quietly Harry only caught a few words. "…can't stand…at teaching…won't shut up…teach him…"

This did not bode well, not in the slightest.

**30**

Hermione was thrilled that he was taking up Legilimency again.

"What better training could you get for being an Auror?" she asked, taking the book from his hands and flipping through it. "So many wizards ignore it, but there's no better defense than a closed mind."

"I killed Voldemort without managing it," Harry replied snippily. "Besides, it's _Snape_. You do know what's going to happen, right? I'm going to go down tonight and he's going to take one look at my memories and laugh me out of the castle. I've never been able to keep him out; the only time I managed something even remotely close to it was pushing back and looking into his mind, and I'm really not interested in doing that, even if I could control it."

"Then you have even more of a reason to do well," she said. "Look, here it says you should have some sort of image to focus on, like a brick wall or black curtains or something. Put all your feelings about Snape behind a wall."

"I can't," Harry replied miserably. "I'm never going to be able to."

"Y'know, if he does see, that wouldn't be the worst way he could find out," Ron mused. "It's not like you're telling him or anything, and it's his own fault for prying into your mind. You can blame him for snooping and take the focus off yourself."

"I don't think he'll be distractible," Harry replied. "Not once he finds out I fancy him."

"How did you get into this again?" Ron asked. "You didn't say."

Harry flushed. He had specifically avoided telling them what had happened last night, partly because he was mad at Hermione for not wanting to listen and help, but largely because he didn't know exactly what happened, and he didn't think he could recount the story with any vestiges of clarity whatsoever. "He said that if I want to stay I need to be doing something useful," Harry said. "I'm still going to be brewing potions, but short and easy ones, and then we'll have lessons."

"So you've got an invitation to go back any time?" Ron asked, eyebrows raised.

"Sort of," Harry replied, knowing that wasn't enough of an answer and hoping to get away with it anyway.

"…and?" Ron prompted.

Harry sighed. "Well we had a pretty big fight. But he started off by saying it wasn't worth his time to get rid of me and ended with telling me that if he didn't want me around, I'd know."

"Maybe he was implying you _should_ know?" Hermione asked.

Harry glared at her. "Then why'd he give me the Occlumency book and tell me to come back for lessons?"

"He knows more than anyone else how much you hate it," she replied. "He might have thought it was the easiest way of getting rid of you."

"Oh yes, because he's definitely one to beat around the bush and not come out with it," Harry said sarcastically.

"Well, er, he has tried that," she pointed out. "And you keep coming back."

Harry slammed down his fork and stood up, attracting the attention of the entire Great Hall. "I'm bloody sick of you," he snapped. "You can go on and on about how you're trying to help, but really, did it ever cross your mind, just once, to be _nice_ about it?" He grabbed his book back and shoved it into his bag. "Forget it. Leave me alone."

He stormed out of the Hall and up the stairs. He had no idea where he was going and didn't care at all; the important part was getting away from Hermione. He heard footsteps behind him and, assuming it was Hermione, yelled, "I told you, shove off!"

"I'm not Granger, slow down," Malfoy said, and Harry stopped, waiting for him to catch up. "Can I assume that was about what I think it was?"

Harry glanced towards the doors to the Hall, still visible from the second floor landing. "Yeah, come on." He led them down a hallway and into a spare classroom. "This isn't me opening up to you, or willingly carrying on a conversation," Harry said. "It's me not wanting you to yell about it loudly enough that everyone will hear."

Malfoy smirked. "Right, of course. Want to talk about it?"

Harry glared back, then averted his eyes and sighed, defeated. "Yeah."

Malfoy perched on the edge of the desk at the front of the room. "Go on, then. Was that an Occlumency book I saw you with?"

Harry closed his eyes. "Yeah. Snape's going to be giving me lessons again."

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up. "That's impressive, given how it ended last time."

"Thank you!" Harry exclaimed, eyes flying open and gesticulating wildly. "You don't think he's trying to annoy me out of his life, then? You think it might be something else?"

"I wouldn't say that at all," Malfoy replied. "I don't know why he'd offer, but I'm certain he's not pushing you away, or if he is, he doesn't mean it."

"Has he told you something?" Harry asked, finally cutting to the heart of the matter. "About me? How he feels about me?"

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow again. "Are you telling me how you feel about him?"

Harry glared. "No."

"Then no," Malfoy replied. "Tell me what happened yesterday. I tried to talk to Severus last night but he wouldn't answer his door. Whatever you're doing, it definitely has an effect."

Harry told him an abbreviated version. He left out the bit about the cuffs and the more specific bits about his dad and Snape's role in the war, but he told him about Christmas—Malfoy actually laughed when he heard Snape suggested they spend the day together—, the broader aspects of Harry forgiving him and asking for an apology and the following fight, how he'd finally gotten Snape to say that he was ambivalent, though now that he was saying it, Harry wasn't sure that was any better than indifferent, telling Snape he wasn't coming back and Snape replying that he'd tell Harry if he didn't want him around, and ending with the Occlumency lessons.

"No wonder he didn't answer," Malfoy replied. "He was probably wanking or taking a cold shower or something." Harry gaped at him, and he laughed. "Oh, come on. We both know what's going on, there's no point in denying it. If you want to have a decent conversation about Severus, it has to be acknowledged."

"Is that something he said to you, or that you've decided is true?" Harry asked suspiciously. "Not the wanking obviously, but that he—er, um, thinks about—I mean, wants—or—"

"Sorry, sworn to secrecy," Malfoy replied. "Though I wouldn't exactly go around swearing myself to secrecy. That'd be daft, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Harry said vaguely, trying to process. Did—was it possible? Could Snape possibly return his feelings? There was no way, absolutely none. Malfoy had to be lying.

…then again, if he did want Snape to be happy, this would hardly be the way to go about it.

"So," Harry said, sitting on one of the desks. "Um. I don't—I mean, I think I've been doing it wrong? If there's a way to do it right?"

"I don't know about that," Malfoy replied. "You're in his office every night, you managed to get him to admit he wants you there, and he even said he wouldn't mind talking to you as long as you aren't an idiot and stop bringing up things you know he won't like. Merlin, even ambivalent, that's more than I've ever gotten."

Harry glanced at him. "Really? I thought you were close."

Malfoy shrugged. "Close with Severus is a relative term. We have tea a few nights a week. He comes to the Manor over break. He saved my life, and my family's. We talk sometimes, though mostly I talk and he listens. He's a great listener, by the way. Take advantage of that if you can. But getting him to voice any feelings? You'd have better luck getting a declaration of love out of a Jarvey."

Harry snorted. "Fair enough."

"He's better out of the classroom," Malfoy said. "Out of his office, too. If you can get into his quarters, do that. It'll help with the whole you're his student thing."

"Yeah, I can't really see that happening," Harry replied.

"Ask for tea," Malfoy said. "Tell him you're nervous about Occlumency and ask for tea."

"Because that worked so well for you last time," Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

"It usually does," Malfoy said huffily. "It only didn't because you were there. Or, hmm. You said you're seeing him on Christmas? What about tonight?"

"Uh, yeah, both," Harry said. "I don't have any plans, though. He doesn't really seem like the holiday type, and I don't want to push it."

Malfoy smirked again. "Of course you do. That's all you've done, pushing it."

"Well fine, if you're so keen on giving me advice, what do you think I should do?" Harry asked irritably. Everything was so damned _twisty_, it was hard to think. He kept going back to Malfoy practically saying Snape fancied him. The image of him wanking didn't help either. "What does he usually do on Christmas?"

"The same as any on other day, but with more brandy, or maybe scotch," Malfoy replied. "Possibly vodka, if he's in a particularly foul mood. If he hasn't had the chance to go shopping, I've seen him sink to Firewhiskey, but he'd never admit it. As for Christmas Eve, he couldn't care less, and he just finds the New Year depressing. You should change his mind."

"And how exactly should I do that?" Harry asked.

"I'll be stopping by on Christmas," Malfoy said. "After lunch, I think. Father gave me a bottle of black mead to give to him. You could come, I suppose."

"Does he do anything on holidays other than drink?" Harry asked skeptically.

"He would, if you did something about it," Malfoy replied.

"I'll go down at seven, like always," Harry said. "I'll brew and we'll have lessons or whatever, and then I'm leaving. That's it."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I thought you wanted things to change."

"I do, but every time I try anything it just ends it a fight," Harry said irritably. "And you're not exactly brimming with suggestions."

"Okay, first, I am, I told you to ask for tea," Malfoy replied. "And fighting is how Severus talks. He gives orders, he yells, and he sits silently. You're not going to get more than that." He paused. "What _do _you want?"

Harry sighed miserably. "I don't know."

"You do want him though, right?" Malfoy asked. "More than as a professor, or a friend?"

Harry flushed darkly and nodded, keeping his eyes averted. "Just to be clear, I know that's not going to happen."

"It will," Malfoy said confidently. "You need to go about it right, and that's not easy, but if it's want you really want, it'll happen."

"Don't," Harry said sharply. "I don't know what you're doing or why, but don't tease me, not about this."

"I'm not!" Malfoy protested. "I'm trying to help, I told you! Encouraging you if I knew he didn't feel the same would hardly make Severus happy, now would it? Like I've said, that's all I want. The fact that it helps you is coincidental."

Harry's stomach twisted so furiously he was relatively certain it cracked apart into several free-floating pieces. One remained where it should, continuing to twist, one rose to his chest and twisted around his heart and lungs, and the third caught itself in his throat.

"I'm sorry?" he choked. "I told you—I said—so tell me. No secrecy. Just between us."

Malfoy smiled slightly. "If only the rest of the world knew how pathetically insecure you are. You really need to hear it more blatantly than that?"

All Harry could do was nod.

"You are aware he would never speak to me again if I told you?" Malfoy asked. "I'm risking all eighteen years of my relationship with him—my godfather—for you. Not for him, but for your own peace of mind. Give me one good reason why I should. Now I can still technically deny telling you anything, but if I say the words out loud, if I tell you that Severus wants you, that he hasn't hated you for years, that he's as desperate to spend time with you as you are with him, that'd be crossing a line."

Harry stared. That was it, just stared. Nothing else.

After a very long time, Harry asked, "Tea?"

Malfoy smiled fully. "Yes, Potter. Tea."

Harry nodded slightly. "Okay. I can do tea."

**31**

Harry remembered partway through lunch that Snape might be expecting him in the afternoon, not after dinner. It was Christmas Eve, and they'd sort of talked about that a while ago, while Harry was in detention, to see if he could get the night off to be with his friends. Only now he wasn't in detention, and Snape had never given him an answer, and Harry still wasn't talking to Hermione.

That made lunch fairly awkward.

Harry was talking to Ron, though he didn't say anything about his meeting with Malfoy. Ron was talking to both of them, and Hermione would only acknowledge Ron. It wasn't like the three hadn't been in some variant of this situation before, but that didn't make it any less uncomfortable or juvenile.

"Any plans for after lunch?" Harry asked Ron casually.

He glanced at Hermione. "Er, studying, I think."

Harry groaned. "It's Christmas Eve. Why are you studying?"

"D'you want to do something else?" Ron asked. "We could have a snowball fight, I suppose, or maybe a fly." Hermione elbowed him, and he glared at her. "I'm not going to ignore Harry because you two are fighting."

"We have plans tonight," she reminded Ron.

"Yes, and Harry's asking about the afternoon," Ron replied as if she was daft. He turned back to Harry. "Or if it's too cold out, there's always chess. Or a nap."

"Seekers game?" Harry asked. "I've hardly played at all this year."

"Yeah, all right," Ron said amicably. Hermione frowned and whispered something in his ear. He shook her off. "I don't know, ask him yourself!"

Harry glanced at Hermione, then turned back to Ron. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Ron replied angrily. "As _someone_ said fourth year, I'm not an owl."

"Tell Hermione if she's upset that I'm spending time with my best friend on Christmas Eve, she's got to make some new friends," Harry said to Ron.

"Well Ron, you can tell Harry that if he'd _grow up_ and talk to me himself, he'd know that wasn't what I was asking about at all," Hermione told Ron.

"Ron, would you tell Hermione that I don't care what she's asking about because it's none of her business?" Harry asked Ron.

"Ron, tell Harry that he's done nothing but shove his business in my face for so long that it's become my business, even if I don't approve," Hermione said to Ron.

"Ron, tell Hermione—"

"Shut up!" Ron yelled. "Both of you! Merlin, if I had known how infuriating this is, I never would've done it! Hermione, apologize to Harry for not supporting him. Harry, apologize to Hermione for trying to stifle her opinions and talking about nothing but his cuff."

Harry and Hermione glared at each other.

"I'm sorry I have better things to do than listen to you go on and on about some unrequited love that's only making you miserable," Hermione said. "And I'm sorry you're too daft to listen to me and let me help you."

"Well I'm sorry you don't know what Malfoy told me," Harry shot back. He dropped his voice. "I'm sorry you don't know that he says Snape fancies me, and I'm sorry to tell you that Malfoy's being a better friend than you."

Hermione's eyes blazed. "I'm sorry you're so pathetic you're reduced to trusting Draco Malfoy."

"I'm sorry you're so close-minded you can't imagine anyone changing," Harry said. "It gets lonely when you hate everyone around you and refuse to trust, I should know."

"I'm sorry you're going to be humiliated in front of the entire school!" Hermione exclaimed, loud enough to attract stares. "I'm sorry that you're—"

"I'm sorry you're such an uptight, stuck up twat!" Harry yelled, once again standing up and storming out of the Hall. He knew he was being immature and childish, but he was secure in the knowledge that Hermione was just as bad as he was. It wasn't like her; they'd had their fair share of fights, and she had no problem lecturing or even yelling if she thought the occasion called for it, but she was rarely this petty.

Harry stopped walking, leaning his head and a hand on the front doors. He had been planning on flying to blow off steam, but now he just felt guilty. The only reason Hermione would let herself sink so low was if she was truly hurt and angry, and she would only be so upset because she loved him, and was honestly trying to do the right thing. He knew his expectations regarding Snape had slipped way, way out of line, but Malfoy had made everything seem okay and reasonable and Harry just wanted to hang onto the feeling.

Malfoy wasn't looking out for him, though. At best he was trying to help Snape and at worst he was orchestrating a prank meant to humiliate him in all sorts of new ways. All Hermione wanted was for Harry not to get hurt.

Harry turned around with every intention of marching back into the Great Hall and begging until she forgave him. Instead she was standing before him, halfway between the Hall and the front doors. She looked just as ashamed and hesitant as Harry felt. They started talking at the same time.

"'Mione, I'm so—"

"You're, right I shouldn't have—"

They both stopped and laughed nervously.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "Actually sorry. For being a self-centered prick."

"I'm sorry, too," Hermione said. "I should have been more sensitive." She held up a small cloth bundle. "I brought muffins. I thought we could go somewhere and you can tell me what's happened? You never properly said what happened last night, and then whatever it was with Draco this morning?"

"No, it's okay," Harry replied. "I was going to go for a fly, think things over on my own. You're sick of hearing about it, you don't have to pretend. I don't blame you; honestly, I'm a little sick of it myself."

She smiled. "Harry, I love you, but I don't trust you to think by yourself. I want to hear about it, I really do."

"You're sure?" Harry asked. "Because there's a lot to tell."

"I'm sure," she said firmly, stepping forward and taking his arm, propelling them out of the entranceway. "I'm still going to have opinions, mind you, and I'm going to tell you them. But I promise I'll be nice, and I promise I'll listen to what you have to say for yourself."

Harry thought that was a pretty decent offer, given how difficult he'd been. He shook his arm free and wrapped it around her shoulder, drawing her to him and kissing the top of her head. "Thanks, Hermione. Loads."

"It's what I'm here for," she said, winding through the hallways until even Harry was lost. At the end of the corridor was a large bay window overlooking the Black Lake, and they sat there. She took out two muffins and passed one to Harry. "Okay, go."

Harry went.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Something tells me you're going to enjoy this chapter… There's one more after it, so keep an eye out on Monday. Love you all!

**Chapter Eight**

**32**

Harry knocked on Snape's door at exactly seven. He was getting very good at exactly seven.

"Enter."

And very used to the never-changing _enter_.

"Happy Christmas Eve," Harry said, starting the evening by taking a huge chance.

Snape glanced up for a split second. "More Pepperup," he said. "One draught, and then Occlumency lessons. Did you read the chapters?"

"Yes," Harry replied, starting in. "Hermione and I talked about it some. Last time I tried to learn you told me to clear my mind; she suggested using something like a wall or a curtain to push everything behind."

"Considering your inability to keep your mouth shut and your thoughts to yourself, that is not the worst strategy you could use," Snape replied. "Focus on your potion. We will continue this conversation when you are done."

Harry decided he could stay silent for the forty-five minutes it took to make Pepperup. In fact, with all of his focus devoted to the potion and the practice he'd gotten last Friday, it took no more than a half hour. He cleaned the station and brought the flask over to Snape.

"Finished," he said, starting to get nervous. Despite his talk with Malfoy and help from Hermione, he was terrified. Snape was going to see something he wasn't supposed to, Harry was positive. He licked his lips reflexively and swallowed, realizing how dry his throat was. It was quite convenient. "Sir, I was wondering if—well, if I could have some water or tea before we start?"

Snape regarded him. "Fine. I will lecture. Come with me." Harry followed him over to his bookcase, and then through the shimmering passageway. He blinked as he took in Snape's quarters for the first time. He had expected them to be dark and Spartan and unpleasant. Instead he found himself in a small room more reminiscent of the Gryffindor common room than the Slytherin dorms. A large fireplace took up the left wall with a comfortable looking couch and two recliners grouped around it. Two of the other walls were filled with bookcases, and the third had another desk, far less impressive than the one in his office and not nearly as ordered. Parchment and books were scattered around, all covered with Snape's cramped scrawl. Above the desk was a small window, the last thing Harry expected.

"Stop gawping and sit," Snape said, indicating towards the couch.

Only barely believing this was actually happening, Harry sat. The couch was as plushy as it looked. Snape flicked his wand and a fire roared into life, warmth and light flooding the room. Above the fireplace was what looked like a clock, only there were thirteen runes around the edge and five hands, currently all pointed at a rune Harry didn't recognize. He committed it to memory so he could ask Hermione about it. The mantel had only a few mementos on it; a jar filled with the same sort of slimy, unidentifiable unpleasantness that populated Snape's office, a small vial of unfamiliar potion floating an inch or so above the stone, a Slytherin crest, Marvolo Gaunt's ring—even here Snape wouldn't allow himself the kindness of forgetting—and a lone rose, suspended upright. Harry was very curious about that.

A tea set floated onto the coffee table in front of Harry, complete with cream and a small bowl of sugar. He wouldn't have thought Snape would ever entertain the notion of having his tea anything other than black. Harry went to pour himself a cup when Snape cut in sharply.

"It just started steeping, Potter. Don't be an idiot."

This was Malfoy's idea of an improvement? That was laughable. "Sorry," Harry replied.

Snape settled himself in one of the recliners. "How much do you remember from your previous lessons?"

"Er, mostly humiliation," Harry said, looking into the fireplace. "Doing accidental magic. And, um, accidentally breaking into your memories."

"Rest assured that will not happen again," Snape replied tersely. "Do you remember none of the theory?"

"You weren't, um, big on theory," Harry said, trying not to dig himself into a ditch. "It was mostly just practice."

"I find there are types of magic that respond better to practice than extended consideration," Snape replied. "I merely wondered whether or not you retained any of what I taught you."

Harry was a bright, deep red. "Don't try to learn standing up," he said. "I had bruises on my knees for weeks. A shield charm worked, though you weren't particularly pleased with that. Um. That's about it."

"Did you learn anything from the book?"

Harry was relatively certain that was a test, given the content of the chapters he had been assigned. "Mostly just anecdotes. Why it's important and stuff. Other than that, just what you told me. Clear your mind. Try to fight back mentally rather than with a wand."

Snape nodded. "Good. Give me your wand."

Harry stared at him. "Sorry?"

"You are not supposed to use your wand, so I will remove the temptation," Snape said. "Give it to me."

Shaking, Harry handed it over. He knew wandless magic, a bit. It would be fine. By which he meant Snape would kill him.

"The tea is ready."

It took a minute for Harry to remember what was going on. Still shaking, he poured himself a cup, adding an obscene amount of sugar because somehow he decided that would help. Entirely irrational, of course. If anything it would be a distraction, but the sweetness did help, a little. The tea was strong and smoky, and without the sugar would have been overwhelming. As suspected, Snape took his black.

"This was a bad idea," Harry said suddenly. "I can't do this, I've never been able to. Why did you suggest it in the first place? Are you trying to embarrass me and drive me away? If you don't want me around you just have to say so, you don't need to do this."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "We have been through this over and over again. If I did not want you here, you would not be here. As for the lessons, I find I am less adverse to your company when you are doing something useful. My contractual potions are clearly not enough to hold your attention, so I thought I would give you something that would stop your jabbering."

Harry had a question. He wanted to know why, if Snape wanted him here, he was making him do this, and being so mean about it. For once, he kept it in. "There are things I'd rather you not see," he said instead.

"I assume as much," Snape replied. "Consider it extra incentive."

That's what Hermione had said, and it didn't sound any better coming from Snape. This whole business about the tea; he was more uncomfortable than ever, Snape wasn't being any nicer, and in a few minutes it wouldn't matter anyway.

And then Snape surprised him very much.

"I have shared far worse memories with you than any you could possibly have," he said. "Whatever I see will not come close to rivaling what you know."

In some respects that was true. But Snape's memories had been noble and heroic, while Harry's were pathetic and stupid. "Then, in the interest of fairness, keep to the war, yeah?" Harry asked. "Let my personal life alone?"

Snape's eyes flashed. "Like how I showed you everything about your mother, and my time at Hogwarts?"

Fair point. "Well, maybe," Harry said slowly, "maybe you could be nice?"

A barely concealed smile crossed Snape's face. "I am not known for being nice, Potter. If you are backing out, do so now. However, given your obsession with my approval, I feel I should warn you I will not be impressed."

Harry felt that was rather low. "I'm not backing out," he said defensively.

"Put your teacup down and clear your mind. Envision your wall if you must."

Harry nearly spilled tea all over everything as he set the cup down. He hadn't thought they'd start _now_. There was tea to be had and, according to Malfoy, lessened awkwardness. Clearly that was not the case. So he closed his eyes and searched around for some sort of wall or curtain that meant something to him. Anything, really, to keep Snape out.

Then he had an idea, and he thought it was rather brilliant. He firmed the image in his mind, cataloguing every last detail. "Okay, go."

"_Legilimens_."

Images flashed before his eyes. Dumbledore drinking the potion in the cave, and then falling from the Astronomy Tower. All of the long, cold, uncomfortable nights in the woods searching for Horcruxes. The fight with Ron and how he'd left.

_No_, Harry thought sharply. _Stop. Think._

It took every ounce of concentration he had, but he forced the image to the front of his mind. Bellatrix's knife flying across the room and into Dobby's chest was burned away, engulfed in a blast of fire. The Norwegian Ridgeback from the Tri-Wizard Tournament took its place, thrashing her tail and out sending angry jets of flame.

Snape jerked away, a physical force leaving his mind. Harry opened his eyes, panting in exertion. His arms were on his legs and his head hanging down between them, beads of sweat sliding down his forehead. He hadn't expected it to actually work, not so immediately and completely. Maybe a flicker, but certainly nothing more. He glanced over at Snape, who looked visibly shaken. Harry vaguely wondered what it was like to suddenly have a dragon breathing fire in your face before remembering he knew _exactly_ what that was like.

"That was intentional?" Snape asked. "Your wall was a dragon?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, still a little winded. "It worked."

"I was ill-prepared," Snape replied irritably, sounding and looking much more like himself. "Again. _Legilimens._"

Harry had no time to prepare, and Snape knew what to expect. Dobby was dying in his arms again, and while he tried to summon the dragon back, Snape pushed it away easily. Harry was at the Final Battle, dead bodies everywhere, looking frantically around for his friends while dodging curses and sending his own back. The burning of the Room of Requirement. Hiding in the Shrieking Shack as—

_STOP_, Harry yelled inside his head. _DRAGON. DRAGON, DRAGON, DRAGON. DRAGON!_

She appeared, once again wiping the scene away in flame. Snape was pushing back, trying to force the Shack into view again, but he didn't know how very, _very_ little Harry wanted him to see that memory, and as Hermione had promised, it gave him strength. The Golden Egg appeared beneath her, and she shrieked in protection and rage. Another blast of flame and then—

The flame turned green. Harry watched as his mum crumpled beneath the killing curse. Her scream echoed through his mind, wiping away all traces of Harry's defenses. She was gone and another flash of green as Voldemort cursed him.

He was in the Shrieking Shack and Snape was dying. Harry was panicking, pressing his hands against the slashes in his neck. Snape was muttering to him, telling him to take his memories, and Harry couldn't think, could barely ask Hermione for a vial. Everything was gone, everyone he ever cared about killed, and Snape was—he meant—

_**DRAGON!**_

The memory burst into flames so hot Harry could feel them in his mind, burning everything away. Snape jolted back, and Harry collapsed against the couch in relief. He was still trembling, still sweating, and he swore he could still feel the heat from the dragon, but at least Snape hadn't seen.

"That was low," Harry choked out, barely able to breathe. "Using my mum's death against me."

"Dark wizards will exploit whatever weakness they can," Snape replied, and Harry was a little proud to hear he was short of breath, too. He'd had to fight his way in almost as hard as Harry had to push him out. "What about my death is so private to force such a powerful reaction?"

"Don't say it like that," Harry said sharply. "You didn't die. Really, do you think I'm going to answer that after all I did to keep you out?"

"I do not understand you, Potter," Snape replied, and Harry was miffed that he had already completely recovered from the exertion. "You were completely open about your hatred for me, and I would have thought you had been honest with me this year as well, considering your proclivity to ask over and over again my feelings towards you. Why is this one memory so different?"

"Because it is," Harry snapped. "Leave it alone."

"I will not," Snape replied. "But I have better means of procuring information than asking. _Legilimens_."

Snape was bleeding out and Harry was trying desperately to stop it and he couldn't, nothing could. Snape was going to die right in front of him and there was nothing he could do about it. He took Snape's memories, all focus on giving him what he wanted, what he needed in his last few moments. _Look at me_, he had said while gripping Harry's robes.

Harry could feel his fingers grasping his robes. His robes, that was backwards, since—

_Dragon_, Harry thought weakly. Nothing happened.

—since lately all he could think about were Snape's robes, and his cuff, and what it had felt like. Warm and soft, he never would have thought warm and soft. The scene shifted to the incident in the doorway of the Great Hall when Harry had waved his arms and brushed Snape's cuffs.

_Dragon, I don't remember—dragon?_

He didn't register as Snape walked away, he was too busy looking at his fingers. He'd touched Snape's cuff and it had been warm and soft. Linen and heavily textured and warm and soft. His fingers were tingling because warm and soft, who would have thought?

_Stop_, Harry thought. _Stop, no, don't—_

"You coming?"

Ron's voice echoed in his memory, jerking him out of his thoughts. Even while he talked to Ron and followed his friends up to the library, he could still feel the tingling and the warm and soft. Why warm and soft? How could anything about Snape be warm and soft?

"A vial and a broken fingernail, I'm sure," Ron said sarcastically. "There's no other reason why—"

_**NONONONONO**_

Harry's foot was aching. The coffee table was askew, tea was everywhere, and the cups had shattered. He must have kicked out. He was so flushed he thought his skin might burst into flame and he was dangerously close to tears and he was still shuddering and sweaty and his breathing was funny from exertion and other things he wouldn't admit now, not when Snape had been in his head and could be again at any moment.

Snape was muttering, and Harry forced himself to look over. Blood was splashed down his face, and his nose jerked into place. Harry had broken his nose? He didn't even have his wand. Had it been physical, was that why the coffee table was a mess? Had he jumped across the room in desperation?

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, mortified at how shaky his voice was.

"Yes," Snape replied irritably, voice clogged. "Was your hex intentional?"

"No," Harry said. "No, I don't even know what that was."

"Irrelevant," Snape replied. "You do not need to know such a spell. Warm and soft?"

"Shut up," Harry snapped. "Get the hell out of my head. I'm not doing this."

"Leave, if you wish," Snape said, gesturing to the door. It was obvious on this side, no bookcase hiding it. "Though I do not believe that is what you want."

Harry was going to explode. He was thrumming with magic and fury and terror. "_Terego._" Snape looked mildly surprised as the blood vanished. Harry turned to the tea mess. "_Terego. Reparo_." The spilled tea disappeared and the broken cups flew back together. Harry poured himself a cup of tea and took a sip without adding any sugar or cream. It was bitter, but it helped center him. "I've told you already," he said, considerably calmer. "I've got a bizarre obsession with your cuffs. Let my enjoyment of your clothes feed your ego and let it go."

"I would tell you to let it go yourself if I thought you capable," Snape replied. "What was Weasley saying?"

"It's none of your business," Harry said. "We're not talking about visions from Voldemort, it's just a stupid memory. It means nothing."

"Then why are you so loathe to tell me?" Snape asked. "If it is so inconsequential? Beyond that, why did you lie to Weasley about the vial?"

"I don't know," Harry replied irritably. "It wasn't—it was nothing."

"You are an atrocious liar," Snape said.

"You never tell me anything," Harry said. "Ever. There's no reason for me to open up to you. It's none of your business."

"It is indeed my business," Snape replied. "They are my cuffs."

"Then tell me how you feel about me," Harry shot back. "Are you really ambivalent? If that's it, why am I in your private quarters drinking tea? If cuffs makes it your business, I'm pretty sure my presence makes you mine."

"What do you want me to say?" Snape asked. "Tell me, Potter, because I am starting to form an idea, and I believe it would benefit us both if you explain yourself before any misunderstandings occur."

"No," Harry said automatically. Then his words got away from him. "Malfoy said things."

Snape's eyes flashed. "Oh?" he asked softly. "What things did Draco say?"

"Things that don't go along with what you're saying," Harry replied.

"He has a tendency to let his imagination run away with him," Snape said. "I would not believe anything he says."

"He says he wants you to be happy," Harry replied, deciding that the time for thinking wasn't now. "And that I—er, don't make you not happy." Okay, so maybe there was something to be said for thinking. "I mean. Spending time together would make you happy." He cleared his throat. "Maybe."

Harry wasn't sure he had ever seen Snape look so angry, and that was seriously saying something. "Maybe? What, exactly, did he say?"

Harry was panicking. Malfoy had said a lot. But, he remembered, technically, nothing. "He just suggested things," Harry replied. "Nothing specific. Just the thing about being happy. And he suggested I ask for tea. But," he continued quickly, "I really was thirsty. Nervous, you know, about Occlumency."

"About what I would see," Snape clarified. "If I am reading you correctly, which I am quite confident I am, Draco has told you things that may encourage what you were concerned I would see."

This was not an easy conversation to follow, and was in fact quite terrifying. "Um. It's complicated."

"How complicated can it be?" Snape asked. "Would you lie to me and say you do not know what I am talking about, lie to both of us and pretend you never asked about my feelings towards you, whether hatred, apathy or ambivalence, or lie to yourself and deny your feelings towards me? I may not have explicitly saw you state anything in your memories, but the implication was clear enough, especially coupled with Draco's nonsense."

"Is that what it is?" Harry forced out. "Nonsense?"

"I think it is time you try Legilimency," Snape said suddenly, and Harry had no idea what was going on. Was he being blown off, or had the conversation just taken a less blatant direction? "Perhaps if you know what it is like to navigate a mind, it will be easier for you to close yours."

Was he inviting Harry to look for what he wanted, or were they actually going back to lessons? "I have no idea how to do that," Harry replied, everything twisty and tingly and strange.

Snape looked at him disdainfully. "That is why I am teaching you, Potter. I do not need to tell you what you already know."

That was loaded. Maybe. Maybe not, Snape made it so hard to tell. "Can I have my wand back, then?" Harry asked.

Snape tossed it to him.

Harry rolled it between his fingers, trying to figure this out. "You're way better at Occlumency than I'll ever be," he said. "I know you'll say no, but my first try could you try to be, er, a little less guarded than usual? You've said it's like reading a book, layered and complicated and maze-like, so maybe you could let me get used to how the mind works before I learn how to break through defenses?"

Snape raised an eyebrow, and he almost looked impressed. "Had you not asked I would not have dreamed of such a thing," he replied. "But, given that for once in your live you have managed to ask a question that is not entirely idiotic, I will humor you."

Harry hadn't been expecting that in the slightest. Then again, none of this had gone how it was supposed to. "Thanks," he said vaguely. "Should I look for something in particular, or just go for it?"

"See what you find."

Oh good Merlin this was way too hard. "Is there anything I should know?" Harry asked.

Snape gave him a strange sort of smile he didn't understand at all. "Stop stalling, Potter. You know the incantation."

Harry closed his eyes, gathering himself. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay." He opened his eyes and focused on Snape. He didn't know what he was supposed to be doing so he made it up; he locked eyes with Snape and let himself be absorbed as deeply as he could without magic. It wasn't very far, Snape was too guarded. He raised his wand and focused all his Snape-energy into the wood. "_Legilimens._"

A scene immediately appeared before his eyes. He was in this room, watching Snape and Malfoy, who were drinking what appeared to be tea spiked with some sort of alcohol. The fire was low, giving the impression they had been there for a while. At first glance Snape seemed to be affected by his drink, but his eyes were as sharp as ever. Malfoy, not so much.

"I don' wanna get married," Malfoy grumbled. "'Specially not to Astoria. She's all—blergh."

"Produce an heir and your parents will leave you alone," Snape replied. "You can easily be married and keep up an affair on the side. As long as the name Malfoy lives on, your father won't care, and your mother just wants you to be happy."

"So lemme be happy!" Draco exclaimed, swishing his drink. "I don' wanna deal with a vagina. They're gross."

Harry's jaw dropped, and he felt laughter bubbling up. He knew Malfoy slept with boys, but not that he was gay, and certainly not that he thought vaginas were gross. Not that Harry could argue, but still.

"I cannot disagree," Snape replied, and that shocked all the laughter out of Harry. "But, as a Malfoy, you have certain obligations."

"Fuck obligations," Malfoy said firmly. "I wanna _good_ fuck, not a fuck to please my dad." He made a disgusted face. "Tha' even sounds wrong. My cock, my business."

Harry decided he was done with this memory. Hearing about Malfoy's cock was far too much.

On the other hand, he had no idea how to leave.

"I don' wan' kids, either," Malfoy continued. "Screamin' brats."

"Once again, I cannot disagree," Snape said with a small smile.

"You've got it so good," Malfoy muttered. "Y'can do whatever you wan' and no one will yell at you."

Snape stared at him. "Excuse me?"

Malfoy had the decency to look chagrined. "Never mind."

The memory faded on its own, and Harry was back in the present.

"I have a great deal of revenge to exact on Draco," Snape said by way of explanation.

"How do I move around memories?" Harry asked. "I don't, er, want to hear about Malfoy's—uh—thing."

Snape snorted in stifled laughter. "I had hoped that would spur you onto figuring it out for yourself. Start off easily. Chose a memory you already know, and try to find it."

"Again, then?" Harry asked.

Snape held out his arms. "Here I sit."

Harry focused on him again. His mind tripped over the fact that he was gay, but he forced the thought away. "_Legilimens_."

A scene immediately appeared before his eyes. He was in this room, watching Snape and Draco, who were drinking what appeared to be tea spiked with some sort of alcohol. The fire was low, giving the impression they had been there for a while. At first glance Snape seemed to be affected by his drink, but his eyes were as sharp as ever. Malfoy, not so much.

The same memory as before. Harry didn't listen as Malfoy started talking, instead pulling up his own memory. His first day of potions, the first time Snape had berated him. He didn't know what the memory looked like from Snape's point of view, but he could picture it exactly. He just wasn't sure what to do with the picture.

The door to the potions classroom banged open and Snape swooped in. Harry kept the image in his mind. The door to the potions classroom banged open and Snape swooped in. The memory before him flickered for a moment. Harry forced his memory stronger and, without thinking, _pushed_. He didn't know exactly what happened, but it seemed to work. Everything jolted, and then he was in the potions classroom, watching Snape stride in, watching his eleven year old self watch Snape.

"There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class," Snape said silkily, stalking to the front of the classroom. "As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion making. However, for those select few…" His eyes met Malfoy's, who smirked. "…who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind, ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death." He turned to Harry's younger self, and Harry almost screamed at himself to look up. "Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident not to pay attention!" He moved over to Harry. "Mr. Potter. Our new celebrity."

The memory started to fade and, mostly to see if he could, Harry pulled back on it. The blurred edges became crisp again, and Snape slammed the door open again.

"There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class."

Again, mostly experimenting, Harry pushed again, this time into memory-Snape's mind.

…_waste of my time. First year drivel_.

"As such, I don't expect many of you—"

_Any of you._

"To appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion marking."

_Or even to understand that it is an art. I hate first years._

"However, for those select few—"

_Draco Malfoy in my class. Finally an excuse not to coddle the spoiled snot._

"Who possess the predisposition—"

_As if first years have disposition in anything._

"I can teach you to how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death."

_Not that any of you—_

_I'd know those eyes anywhere. And the unruly mop of hair._

_Fuck, I saw him at the Welcome Feast. How did it not occur to me he would be in my class?_

"Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough not to pay attention!"

_Not his mother's eyes, not like everyone says. Close to hers, but not the same. Yet the same idiotic arrogance his father possessed. Not. Another. Potter._

"Mr. Potter. Our newest celebrity."

_Albus can fuck himself. I am not doing this._

Harry was back in the sitting room.

"Not unreasonable for your first day," Snape said, which was a glowing compliment coming from him.

"Put up a block," Harry demanded, then realized how obnoxious that sounded. "Please, if you don't mind. I want to try again."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "We will trade off. _Legilimens._"

Harry was in the Shrieking Shack and Snape was dying. He was panicking, pushing against the wound—

_Pushing._

Harry pushed back. The memory flickered, then solidified.

Snape was begging him to take it, Hermione handed him a flask, and he gathered Snape's memories.

_PUSH_.

His mind went black, and the sitting room started to appear before him.

Everything turned green, and Harry heard a scream.

_**PUSH FUCKING MERLIN PUSH THE HELL BACK!**_

Harry pushed. The green started to fade, and then he felt Snape pushing back, pushing against him. Harry slammed his mind against Snape's. The green light flickered like a strobe light. Harry did the only thing he could think of—he gathered his strength, slammed against Snape, and forced the memory of the classroom against his mind.

The door slammed open. "There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class." The dungeon started to appear through a green filter, and someone was screaming in the background. "As such, I don't expect…" Snape's speech was slowly drowned out by the scream, which was growing louder and louder, like a train whistle approaching. Harry pushed, but he could feel himself weakening. "…that is potion making. However, for those…"

Everything dissolved into green. The scream turned into a shriek and then cut off. Voldemort stood before him, wand raised.

"_Avada Kedavra._"

Harry's eyes flew open. He was in Snape's sitting room. He was shaking again, heart beating wildly, sweating heavily and panting like he'd run a marathon.

"You are done for the night," Snape said firmly. He moved over to the couch, dropped several sugar cubes and an ample amount of cream into Harry's teacup and handed it to him. "Drink this."

Harry didn't think he'd be able to, he was shaking too hard. He forced his hands as steady as possible and took the cup. The tea was so sweet it was almost painful, but warmth rushed through him, lessening the effect of the memory. It had been so long since the green flash had been a part of his life.

"You did very well," Snape said softly. "Do not take your inability to overturn me as a failure; both Legilimency and Occlumency are incredibly difficult forms of magic, and what you have accomplished today is far beyond what I would have expected, especially given your poor performance in your fifth year."

Harry barely heard the words. "How can you watch that?" he asked. "My mum dying? I know you're using it as a weapon against me, but isn't it just as hard for you?"

Snape paused. "It's different," he said.

"You're gay," Harry said suddenly. "I thought you loved my mum, but you're gay."

"I did love her," Snape replied quietly. "Very much, but not in the way you assumed. She was my only friend for a long time, possibly the only true friend I have ever had. I will always love her and I will always miss her, but it is not the same as your relationship with her. I had twenty years with Lily, though we weren't always friends. You were robbed of any memories beyond her death."

Harry nodded slightly. That made sense, maybe. It was hard to get his thoughts in order. "I want to try again," he said. "I can—"

"No," Snape interrupted. "Enough."

"No!" Harry yelled, feeling familiar indignant stubbornness filling him. "I can do it. Give me another chance."

"Another night," Snape replied. "Lower your voice, and do not talk back."

Anger surged up. Why did Snape never believe him, never trust him? Hadn't he proven time and time again that he was capable? Harry slammed his teacup down onto the table, grabbed his wand up from the floor where he'd dropped it, and pointed it at Snape in one fluid motion, all happening too quickly for Snape to respond.

"_Legilimens!_"

He was in the dungeon. Snape slammed the door open and began his speech. Harry wasn't interested. He didn't know what he was looking for, just something to use against Snape the way Snape shoved his mum's death in his face. He pushed and he _dived_. Memories flashed before him and it was hard to tell exactly what he was looking at, but he'd know when he found it.

Harry slammed down into Snape's sitting room. For a minute he thought Snape had successfully kicked him out but then he saw Malfoy, sprawled on the couch.

"Admit it," Malfoy demanded. "What's the point in not? It's not like he'll ever find out if you don't want him to. If anyone can hide something, it's you."

The memory started to fade away and Harry grabbed.

"I see no reason to," Snape replied coolly. "Not only is it none of your concern, but you are not known for keeping gossip to yourself."

"So you admit there's gossip!" Malfoy accused. "I already know, I just want to hear you say it."

Harry was hit by a battering ram. A green battering ram that screamed in his mother's voice. Harry shoved it away and returned to the memory.

"I do not despise him," Snape conceded. "That is all I will say."

"Get over yourself," Malfoy replied. "You think you're so high and mighty, that you can never—"

Another green flash and another shove, harder than anything Harry had ever felt, even worse than being under the Imperius Curse. But Harry could fight that, and he could fight this. He pushed back as hard as he could.

"—or be happy," Malfoy continued. "If you'd just give it a go…"

"You have moved on from demanding a confession to insisting I tell him," Snape replied conversationally. "I wonder what your father would say about your current relationship."

Malfoy's eyes hardened. "I wonder what my father would say if he found out you were in love with—"

Everything cut out. The memory was gone, Harry was left in a space of nothingness, surrounded by black and silence and nothing. Then a green flash and his mum screaming. Harry tried to push it away but there was nothing left. He watched through the rest of the memory before being ejected into the present.

"Do. Not. Test me," Snape said slowly, voice filled with venom. "Get out of my quarters, out of my office, and out of my classroom. I do not want to see you here again, do you understand me?"

"For doing to you exactly what you did to me?" Harry demanded. "That's fair, punish me for learning from you."

"I told you to stop and you did not," Snape said through gritted teeth. "My ability to tolerate you is contingent upon a certain level of trust. You have proven to me, once again, that you are never to be trusted. You want to know what I think of you? I despise you. I let you into my office only because I am weary of fighting with you. While you left me alone I was willing to abide your presence, but—"

"I never left you alone," Harry interrupted. He felt like he was floating, everything twisty and tingly in the best way, like his first time on a Firebolt or like he'd downed a whole vat of Felix Felicis. "And you don't hate me. You and Malfoy, you were talking about me, weren't you? He's been pushing you as much as me. More, even. He's right, you're right, what you said earlier. I do have feelings towards you, and you do, too. For me. Isn't that why you told me to look into your mind, to find it? You had me backed into a corner; another few questions and I would've had to tell you. Instead you suddenly told me to go digging around in your memories."

Snape was looking at him and Harry hadn't the slightest idea what he was thinking. Despite his bravado and quasi-impressive speech, he was completely drained, both physically and emotionally. He had no idea that Legilimency and Occlumency would be so physically demanding, and he could hardly hold himself up. He fell back against the couch, trying to make it look like frustration rather than exhaustion. Everything was still in overdrive; heartbeat, breathing, sweaty palms, everything. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and still, he could barely function.

"It's you who insists on blatant clarity, right?" Harry asked. "Fine, I give up. All I wanted was a relationship with you that wasn't founded on hatred. Friendship was all I could possibly hope for, and even that was pushing it. But really? What I really want? You. I want you." The twisting was gone, replaced by emptiness. His stomach had vacated the scene entirely. "You don't have to say anything. I saw your memory, and I'm pretty sure you were talking about me. Whether you were or not doesn't matter because you'll never say anything. You're going to tell me to get out again, and—"

Suddenly lips were on his. Forcefully, demanding a response. Harry let out an undignified squeak. He had nearly recovered from the shock enough to respond when Snape traced his lips with his tongue and Harry's mouth fell open. He had no choice but to let himself be ravished. Snape was really good at kissing, unbearably so, almost so good it was painful.

Snape's hands found his face and that broke the spell. Harry buried his hands in Snape's hair; not greasy at all, just soft. One of Snape's hands ran down his neck, the side of his body and settled on his hip, pulling him closer. Harry decided this was all a dream, so he decided to do whatever he wanted, since it clearly didn't matter. He'd wake up and his sheets would be gross and hopefully Ron wouldn't have heard him, and that would be that.

Harry untangled one of his hands and put it on Snape's, the one that was on his hip. He ran his fingers over his hand, learning the feel of his knuckles, the tendons standing out from tightened muscles. His hand was big, as if that was a surprise or something Harry hadn't noticed before. He let his fingers brush along Snape's cuff, and suddenly Snape pulled away, though he left his right hand on Harry's hip.

"What?" Harry gasped, breath completely gone. It already had been, and the kiss had done nothing to help. His eyes were wide with panic. Had this been a joke? Was Snape going to kick him out? Was he furious?

It didn't look like it. He was smiling slightly, but the smile reached his eyes, and Harry didn't think he'd ever seen that before. The hand on his hip turned and wrapped around Harry's wrist. He held their joined hands up.

"What?" Harry asked again, anxiety mixed up with that smile.

"My cuff," Snape said softly. "You're touching my cuff."

Harry looked at their hands. He was, in fact, touching his cuff. "Sorry?" he tried.

"To be clear," Snape said, "this goes beyond an obsession with my clothes, yes? I do not fool around, especially not with you."

Harry laughed, relief and love and exhilaration and elation. "You think you're so clever, and you think that?" he asked. "Snape, the whole reason your cuff was so important is because it was _yours_. Everything I said was true, but it only mattered because it was yours." He leaned up and captured Snape's lips again. He had more focus now that he was expecting it, and he memorized the feeling of their kiss. His lips were soft but chapped, and a strange combination of hesitant and insistent. "Do you want to know what else I've been thinking about?" Harry asked, eventually breaking away. "Look in my mind. I want you to."

Snape frowned slightly. "Are you certain?"

Harry moved his hand around so his fingers were laced with Snape's. His hand was exactly how he remembered it; soft palm, calloused fingers, very strong. "Yes. Please. But don't take too long, I need to kiss you again."

A brief smile cross his face, and then Harry felt his mind in his, sifting through his memories. The past two weeks, which were most immediate. Then farther back, tracing the evolution of Harry's feelings back to the on-off switch moment in the Shrieking Shack. He started forward again, moving through each moment Harry had thought about him. There were a lot of them, and by the time he was done Harry was very impatient.

"I had no idea," Snape said, sounding almost awed. "I spent twenty years being a spy, and I never saw what was right in front of me."

"Well you're seeing me now," Harry replied. He pressed a brief kiss to Snape's cheek. "You could be seeing a lot more of me," he breathed, flicking a tongue out to trace the shell of his ear.

Snape shivered. "I don't—shouldn't, rather, I shouldn't." Harry nuzzled his neck, breathing in his scent. Musky, slightly acrid from so many years working with potions, and strong, black tea.

"You saw I want you," Harry said quietly, the twisty feeling back. Snape could still push him away, he could always push him away. "Please."

"You are my student," Snape replied, though he rolled his head to the side, allowing Harry better access. "I would be taking advantage."

"Like how Malfoy told me to ask for tea so I could get into your quarters?" Harry asked, lips against his neck. "Or how I've been pushing and pushing?"

"I could be your father," Snape sighed.

Harry smiled. "No, you're gay."

Snape hummed quietly in laughter. "Age was my point, Potter."

"Don't care," Harry replied, kissing a trail down to where his neck and shoulder meet. "I—if you want me, I'm yours." Despite the kiss and the words and how Snape was letting him continue on, a part of him was still waiting to be kicked out, or possibly to wake up.

"If I did not want you, you would not be here," Snape repeated. "The rational decision is to wait until you have graduated, and then, if you're still interested, we can—"

"I will be," Harry said firmly, nipping at his neck. "I'm of age already. As long as we're reasonably discreet, there won't be a problem."

Snape turned Harry's face so they were making eye contact, though his other hand was still entwined with Harry's. "You are not known for discretion," he said. "Nor are your friends."

"It's not against the rules," Harry replied. "I checked a while ago, I think you saw that. It doesn't need to be a secret, I just don't think we should shove it in everyone's face."

Snape stroked his cheek gently, still keeping a firm hold on him. "And what is it?" he asked. "What are you proposing?"

Harry thought it very unfair he was being forced into a conversation. Snape's hand was on his face. They had kissed. Snape said he wanted him, almost. They were holding hands. How was he expected to stay coherent through this? "I told you," he said, and he heard a slight shake in his voice. "I'm yours, if you'll have me. Which you still haven't said. Whether you want me or not, I mean, not rationality versus now. That's different and I don't want to talk about it now. I want you to—" Harry couldn't stop a small chuckle from escaping. A very nervous chuckle, probably more of a high-pitched hysterical giggle. "I want you to tell me how you feel about me."

Harry's mind was filled with a memory, the same one he had been watching before that Snape had kicked him out of.

Malfoy's eyes hardened. "I wonder what my father would say if he found out you were in love with the great Harry Potter."

"Your father has no hold over me," Snape replied sharply. "Nobody is going to find out. I can make your life a living hell, Malfoy, at Hogwarts and beyond. Do not tempt me."

"I just want you to be happy," Malfoy said pleadingly. "Really, Sev, you've—"

"Don't call me that," Snape interrupted.

"Severus, then, you've been through so much and you deserve to be happy. I've been watching Potter all year, and there's something there, I swear. I don't know if he wants a relationship with you or not, but he definitely wants something."

"No doubt to get even for everything I've done," Snape replied bitterly.

"That's such bull," Malfoy said. "I'm not going through that again with you. Just spend some time with him, okay? Talk to him. Find out what he wants."

"He'll never want what I want," Snape said. "I do not wish to be mocked and ridiculed. It is far healthier to ignore him until he graduates and then never see him again."

"Which would kill you," Malfoy replied. "If you don't tell him, I will."

Snape's eyes flashed dangerously. "You will not."

Malfoy smirked. "Oh, but I will. So what if Father finds out I'm with Blaise? There's nothing he can do about it. He'll find out soon enough anyway, whether from you, him, the papers or me. You're incapable of taking what you want, so I'll get it for you. A gift for my loving godfather."

"Stay out of my business," Snape said sharply. "It is immaterial whether or not I want Potter, or that I have developed—feelings—for him. Leave it alone."

Malfoy shrugged. "I will for now, on one condition."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Tell me," he implored. "Tell me how you feel about him. It'll be so much better once it's off your chest. You won't have to keep it bottled up inside, hidden away all for yourself. At the very least I can commiserate."

"Like you remember what it's like to be single," Snape sneered. "You have never known what unrequited—what it feels like."

"Then tell me!" Malfoy exclaimed. "I swear, Severus, if you don't I'm marching up to Gryffindor Tower right now and yelling it through the whole house."

Snape might have looked calm, but an inkwell on the desk suddenly shattered. Harry had never seen that, either—a burst of uncontrolled magic from Snape. It was so out of character it was disorienting.

"Fine," he hissed. "Have it your way. I've fallen in love with Harry Potter. Now get out of my quarters. I need a drink, and not the sort that is shared."

Malfoy smirked. "You'll thank me for this one day," he said. "Trust me."

The memory faded away. Harry was looking into Snape's eyes, the real, present Snape, and they were holding hands and Snape was cupping his face and everything was so—so—

"Your cuffs are soft," he muttered quietly. "I never expected you to love me, and I never expected your cuffs would be soft."

"I hope you are not assigning the same degree of importance to both facts," Snape said, serious except for a glint in his eye.

Harry smiled slightly and shook his head. "The same improbability, maybe. Pushing for more improbability—because that's what I do, I push, I can't help it—say you'll be with me. Not maybe in six months when school ends depending, but now. Please. I love you."

Snape leaned down and kissed him almost chastely. "You do push, and it is not an endearing trait," he said quietly, leaning his forehead against Harry's. "But your persistence pays off more often than not for reasons I cannot fathom. If you are prepared for the consequences, both with the students and staff, as well as my past, yes."

Harry squeezed his hand and buried his face in the crook of Snape's neck. He had very little idea of how he'd gotten here, but he wasn't about to let it go. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't mean it."

Snape's hand slid around to the back of his head, gently stroking his hair. "Then it is."

Harry leaned up for a long, slow kiss. A sudden chiming rang out through the room, and Harry jerked away. "What—?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Christmas," he said dryly. "Don't read anything into it."

Harry laughed again. "People keep telling me that, but they're always wrong. Merry Christmas, Sev."

Snape winced. "Don't call me that."

"Too late, you already showed me the memory," Harry said with a smile. "And no more Potter, all right? It's Harry."

"I assumed as much," Snape replied, giving Harry the look he reserved for particularly daft students.

"So it's way after curfew," Harry said, smile turning coy. "I'll get in trouble if I'm caught in the corridors so late."

Snape rolled his eyes again. "Yes, Harry, you can stay the night. But next time just ask, would you? Your excuses are pathetic and transparent."

Another kiss, and this one wasn't interrupted by the clock. When they broke apart it was for air and nothing less important.

"I'll ask," Harry said breathlessly. "I'm asking to touch the rest of your clothes so I can see if I was wrong about them, too. I'm asking for more than a kiss. I'm asking for you to take complete and utter advantage of the memories I showed you, especially the ones late at night. I'm asking for you to never say the word 'rational' again. And I'm asking, just once, for you to tell me how you feel. Not through a memory or implications, but for you to say it, out loud, to me."

"Will you never be satisfied?" Snape asked, though he was smiling slightly. "I let you touch my cuffs, I agree to a relationship that could ruin my career, and I show you memories never meant for your eyes. Can't that be enough?"

"No," Harry replied with a decidedly Malfoy-esque smirk. "Tell me."

Snape kissed him once more, lingering on his lips before kissing his way to his ear. "I love you," he said, so quietly Harry could barely hear him. "Merlin help you if you ask me to say it again."

Harry was relatively certain that was the moment his stomach exploded, leaving nothing but confetti in its wake. His heart certainly stopped beating, and it took a minute to remember how to breathe. "I won't," he managed. "Show me instead."

Snape wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and lifted him, walking them towards the bedroom. "I will," he said, voice husky. "Over and over again until you beg for me to stop."

Harry grinned. "Never."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Hi folks! Here's the end. I hope you love it :)

…okay technically it's not here. I'm paranoid about having a story/my entire account taken down for posting what I shouldn't. This has happened recently, with a different story, so I know it's not just an old wives tale told to scare us away. I know some of you will be angry at me for doing it like this, but think of it this way: wouldn't you prefer to have the minor inconvenience of copying and pasting a link than losing the whole story?

Here are the instructions for how to access the last chapter:

First, delete the current website in your browser's address bar. Then copy and paste these exact words into the address bar:

bit DOT ly SLASH WEB6aE

Delete the DOT and replace it with a period. Delete the spaces before and after the period.

Delete the SLASH and replace it with a forward slash ( / ). Delete the spaces before and after the slash.

If this doesn't work, please _carefully _reread the instructions and try again. I have personally checked this link several times using different browsers on my (Mac) computer, my dad's (Windows) computer and both of our (different but still Android) phones and, recently, my sister's Kindle Fire. It works. Really, really, really works.

If you are at a complete and utter standstill, please _private message_ me with your _email address_ and I will send you a copy of the chapter as soon as I can. Your email address should be in this format:

username AT domain DOT com

(i.e. johnsmith AT gmail DOT com)

Please _do not_ leave a review telling me the link doesn't work. One of two things will happen: if you have an account and are logged in, I will private message you and ask for your email address again. If you aren't signed in, I have no way of contacting you and can't send the chapter.

Thanks for reading, and enjoy your smut :)

Oh, and of course:

**The end.**

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